


We'll Meet Again

by SheNeverWantedToLeave



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dany is a nurse, F/M, Fluff, Happy ending don't you worry, Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen Are Not Related, Jon is a pilot, Jonerys, Modern Westeros, Romance, Sexy Time, Think like 1940's-ish Westeros but a little more modern too?, War, flirty banter, little to no angst, there will be smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-03
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:47:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 114,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24517150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SheNeverWantedToLeave/pseuds/SheNeverWantedToLeave
Summary: On the brink of the imminent Essosi war, Dany, a nurse, meets handsome and sweet Jon, an ambitious war pilot who wistfully, and unexpectedly, sweeps her off her feet.(Title inspired by the song "We'll Meet Again" by Vera Lynn)
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 453
Kudos: 467





	1. Moonlight Serenade

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, my friends!  
> Welcome to my one-shot-turned-two-shot-probably-multi! This is just for fun, one of many AU's I've been working on over the last several months. I set out to write a one-shot war/romance AU, but as per usual, I couldn't stop writing, so I broke it into 2 chapters. If there's enough interest, I'll most likely turn this into a multi, maybe less than 10 chapters? :) Who knows! But I have about half of the second chapter done with many ideas to take it further, and we'll go from there. I hope you enjoy these dorky little lovebirds.

When she wasn’t tending to her patients at King’s Landing General Hospital, Daenerys Targaryen’s face was buried in her studies - which were mostly voluntary, if she was being totally honest. She was passionate about her work, and had dedicated nearly every waking minute of the last couple of years to get to where she was, and then it took on a life of its own. After a stint of nursing school, she went directly from a short apprenticeship to second lieutenant, to first lieutenant in the span of eighteen months. 

Tensions between Westeros, as a whole, and much of the Free Cities of Essos had been mounting for the better part of five years. The East still, very much, engaged in slavery, to which they were to come to an agreement with the rest of the progressive world to abolish. They hadn’t, and relations only soured further when reports of genocide reached across the Narrow Sea.

The war was being anticipated as becoming, potentially, one of the most brutal, and perhaps quite prolonged. In that regard, there was an insurmountable demand for medical personnel as war loomed.

Dany and her three closest friends - Margaery, Talisa, and Missandei - and many colleagues, had a different day ahead of them now, as Dr. Robert Baratheon led them through the western wing of the hospital. When he pushed through the double doors, waddling as he went, they entered a vast square room that had been sectioned off with desks placed along three walls, and the center of the room boasted stations of beds with courtesy curtains for privacy. Dany’s eyes scanned each area with interest, taking mental notes as Dr. Baratheon explained where the men would begin to form their lines, and the order in which things would happen.

She and the girls would be checking over vaccination records and confirming military status after a few basic tests, before administering the injections required before going overseas. The Bloody Flux was a terrible disease not known to their side of the world, so prevention was a necessity.

“How many can we expect this evening, doctor?” Margaery asked, her piercing blue eyes roaming the expansive room. “We saw truckloads of men arriving this morning, already.”

“This evening alone, we have three thousand registrants,” Dr. Baratheon with a tone of pride, his rounded gut jutting out as if punctuating such an announcement. They were one of the more prestigious hospitals in the country, centered in the capital of King’s Landing, having been awarded with several honors and widespread recognition for their efforts to stay ahead of the curve with medical developments. It was Dany’s top choice for employment, and somehow she had managed to snag it.

Letting out a whistle, Margaery elbowed Dany gently in her ribs and leaned in. “Three thousand perfectly sculpted asses. Could you imagine?”

Dany pressed his lips tightly together to ward off her imminent snort, not wishing to draw any attention and then having to explain herself. “You’re going to get me in trouble,” she whispered to her friend in return, drawing a crooked smirk from Margaery. The injection for the Bloody Flux would be administered intramuscularly through the buttocks, and they got a good giggle out despite being professionals.

“Please remind the boys of the potential side effects of the vaccination; low fever, pain at the injection site, and mild bouts of diarrhea are quite common,” Dr. Baratheon continued with an air of impatience in his voice. Then, he sighed. “Evidently, Highgarden Center had several moans and groans from the men they tended to, so be sure to tell ‘em to grow a pair, else they won’t even survive the journey across the sea.”

That granted a mutual hum of laughter and giggles from the ladies, which bounced off the stale walls.

“And,” Dr. Baratheon turned to face the lot of them, waiting for silence before his face hardened. “Remember, the Citadel’s Seal of Authentication and Legitimacy _must_ be present on each document once you’ve looked over all the required paperwork,” he said sternly, seeming to pierce every pair of eyes on him. “Failure to do so, or to deceptively pass a recruit for ulterior motives, will result in forfeiture of your licenses.”

They had recited the laws and stipulations so many times over the last couple of weeks, Dany could repeat them in her sleep. In fact, sometimes she _would_ dream of the lectures, which was a disturbing thought by itself. A nervous sound of understanding bumbled about before he continued their tour.

“That’s too bad,” Margaery noted, her voice sorrowful. “I was prepared to pass anyone with an a-grade ass.”

This time, Dany couldn’t mask her chuckle, doing her best to disguise it as a cough. Luckily, she was successful, but the responding chortles from Missandei and Talisa were drawing sneers from the others around them.

“Get yourselves together, ladies,” Talisa whispered, “or we’ll get the boot before we get the eye candy.”

* * *

✈️👗💄🐺

* * *

Nothing could quite prepare Dany for the onslaught of men that had lined up just outside the main entrance, as Dany and the girls peered out one of the side windows. It was evening now, the sun still casting a tangerine hue on the grounds, but even so, the line disappeared just over the slope of the distant hill. No matter how dolled up Dany had gotten, she was certain the color that drained from her face was completely obvious. The notion of war was an ever-present thought in her life, ever since she took up her specialty as a military nurse. But, this was the first time it would be put to proper use, and now certainly wasn’t the time to get cold feet or a sour stomach. She needed to put on a brave face, but the faces that she could make out clearly looked so _young_. Many of them looked about her age, some younger, some barely older. Who knew how many of them standing there now would be gone in just over a month’s time?

Swallowing, Dany carefully stepped down from the chair she had propped herself on, her stilettos making it that much more difficult. She adjusted the white scarf secured around her forehead that was tied to the back of her head, a bright red cross printed to the front. Her long, silver locks were loose in curled waves, rose lipstick applied thoroughly, and her lashes painted with black mascara. Beneath her white uniform apron, she wore a canary yellow a-line dress. 

Presentable, but not too overdone.

“Right. Ladies, to your stations, please,” Dr. Baratheon’s voice boomed over the still silence of the room. Dany rounded to her seat, her folders, pens and papers which she had obsessively arranged and rearranged in their proper order. She didn’t know why she felt so nervous all of a sudden, a slight slammy dew coating her hands as she brushed them against the lap of her apron once she took her seat. This was what she had been preparing for each and every day, but she supposed the realities of war were far more terrifying than just reading about it in text.

After a few more minutes, once everyone was settled, the doors opened, and the filing in began.

Dany watched, from the second section, observing the pleasant conversations and the body language of each individual who continued down the line. There were two ladies at check-in that would address them before it would be Dany’s turn, giving her sufficient time to still her drumming heart. If she couldn’t get that under control, at least, there was absolutely no possibility she could handle a needle with trembling hands. Especially in their bums.

There were sight exams for pilots, at the table just before Dany’s, and the first couple had failed the test and had to be escorted out before Dany could address them. Releasing a slow breath, she finally was approached by her first officer, propping open his folder with surprisingly deft hands. There was a nervousness even among the soldiers, a slight edge as documents were thoroughly looked over and questions were asked. She read through each line carefully, scanned for the proper Citadel Seals and signatures, confirmed that they were otherwise in fit health, and then brought him over to one of the curtained beds for his injection.

It ended up being quite comedic, their reactions when she had to explain that it had to be given in their arses. That relaxed Dany more than anything else, coincidentally, allowing herself a private giggle when they were off on their way with their hands massaging the offended cheek. After her first dozen or so, she began to play it up a bit. Depending on their personality, sometimes she would over-joyfully propose where the needle would go, or sometimes, when they were _particularly_ forward or trying to flirt with her, she would put the fear of the seven in them. That brought them down several levels, at least, and she commanded more respect in that regard.

At some point, it became redundant clockwork, exchanging pleasant greetings with most. Truthfully, more often than not, they were either teetering on passing out from stress over the whole thing, or just wanted to get on with it.

She opened up the next folder as it was handed to her without looking up to acknowledge the man in front of her, scanning her eyes over the documents inside when a rather vexing voice said, "never quite seen a girl like you before. Name?" And somewhere just behind the retort was a hiss, a harsh whisper she couldn’t quite make out.

She sighed, pressing her eyes closed for a moment, then resumed her task.

"Try again," she said flatly, turning to the next page. Maybe she could’ve been less clipped, but she was growing weary, and some of these men were truly testing her patience. And, she felt that she typically had the patience of a saint, on most days.

"Sorry?" He returned, the slightest bit of amusement lacing his nail-scratching tone.

"I can't tell you how many times someone has made a pass at me in the hopes that I miss something on their forms. Most of them were denied, Mr…," she paused, looking over the name, “Greyjoy.” Truthfully, she had to deal with this sort of thing quite often in her field: the banter, the inappropriate language or even touches that were unrelated to their care. While it was mostly harmless, and easy enough to roll off her shoulders, she felt a little bit agitated that some of these men were trying to butter her up to get a seal of approval to continue on to the next stage of the process. Especially when they were perfectly qualified _without_ the flirtatious solicitations, or when they were, as she had mentioned, making such quips to attempt to distract her from something.

"I didn't know that complimenting someone wasn't mutually exclusive to flirting," he replied matter-of-factly.

Annoyed, when she finally brought her eyes up to put a face to the voice, she found she was lacking any for herself. It wasn’t even for the person speaking to her, as her attention immediately fell on the man just beside and behind him, the one who appeared nearly as irked by his friend as she was. Coincidentally, their eyes locked at the very same moment - or had he already been watching her? Unintentionally, her mouth fell slack, as brownish-grey, stormy eyes searched hers, a head full of mid-neck-length raven curls that any woman in that room would envy, or want to bury their hands in. His well-structured face was framed at the jaw and chin by a close-cut beard of black coarse hair, as was his moustache. Above that, possibly the fullest, most luscious lips she had ever witnessed on a man, which had parted slightly after a moment of her gaping.

He was devastatingly beautiful, and frustratingly distracting.

The sandy blonde man she was actually meant to be tending to grumbled, shoulders slouching as he threw a scowl over his shoulder at the handsome one. “Fuck’s sake, Jon. Can’t take you anywhere, can I?”

Dany blinked, feeling a boiling heat erupt beneath her skin, forcing her head down to review the paperwork once more, though she kept a keen ear on her _actual_ attendant. She swore, unless her thoughts were a clouded mess, that the dark-haired one - Jon, as his companion mentioned - muttered something along the lines of, “I said not _that_ one.”

When she peeked up below her lashes at Jon once more, she didn’t dare let her eyes travel any lower than his chin, and the only thing that brought her out of her unprofessional stupor was the slightest raise of his brow, and the searing flush of heat that crept up her neck in embarrassment that she let her guard down and he _definitely_ noticed.

"Do you always enchant women with your snarky remarks, Mr. Greyjoy?" She finally asked this Theon character, once she got a hold on herself.

He didn’t bother fighting a smirk; she could see it as the corner of his thin mouth ticked up, just a hair. It seemed that he was under the impression she was most impressed by his boldness. "Depends on the woman in question. You never did give me your name."

Gritting her teeth, she forced her attention back to her work. He was like a nuisance fly that would not leave her alone, and he was playing games. Games she did not have time for in this particular environment. “It’s Daenerys,” she replied flatly.

Ignoring the rest of his invasion of comments and questions (“ _Day-nary-us? Where are you from? Do you have any friends for Jon here?)_ , she was able to reach the end of his documents and sign her approval once everything was confirmed to be in shipshape fashion, and he was free to get out of her hair.

Then, an idea struck her, managing to keep her face a stoney facade. Looking over to her right, the subject she sought after just happened to be walking her way. “Margaery, darling. Mr. Greyjoy is ready for you now,” Dany smiled with feigned sweetness, a signal that only Margaery came to recognize this afternoon. The very one they had shared when particularly overly fond men crossed an invisible line.

Or, wherein they were just a little _too_ cocky.

Theon lifted a curious brow toward the sandy blonde woman who eyed him up and down in one swift motion, hip jut out against the table. Her eyebrows jumped, and he turned to face her, clear interest written all over his squirrely face.

“Oh?” Margaery asked, crooking a finger for him to follow her. “Come along, then.”

He did as bid without another word like a dog in heat, and Dany smirked as she returned to the task at hand, suddenly and all-at-once aware of the next folder being offered to her.

“Hope she won’t hurt him too badly,” the gruff voice came, and it felt as though it vibrated through her very skin.

However, she opened the folder, smiling, but refused to meet his eyes. Not yet - she needed to keep a rhythm going and _not_ become otherwise displaced by his stupid good looks. “Only his pride, I think.”

As if on cue, a girlish shout erupted from the closed-off area, though it was not Margaery. Or any woman. After a few more seconds, Theon was limping out of there, folder clutched in one hand, and his other rubbing at his sore arse cheek still hanging out of his pants. Dany reserved a giggle as his wounded face turned to sneer in Dany’s direction, walking off down the line. When Margaery came into view, it was with a pleased glint in her eyes.

When Dany finally looked up, the man before her - Jon Stark, per his paperwork - had blanched as he watched Theon move forward, then pierced her with those impossibly warm eyes again. Only, this time they were edging on the side of apprehension.

“Don’t fret too much,” she assured him. “It’s only a little tender afterwards. I’m sure Mr. Greyjoy will right himself in no time.”

He drew in a breath, stealing a sidelong glance the other way as if he mistrusted her. “It’s not him I’m worried about," he grumbled.

She followed his line of sight to where Margaery was eyeballing him, making a show of snapping the latex gloves down her hand. Dany was unable to stifle a most unladylike snort then, waving her friend off as Margaery then retreated elsewhere.

“Margaery is a necessary accomplice,” Dany stated firmly once her laughter wore off.

A small huff escaped Jon then. “That was partly my fault,” he muttered, causing her to look at him a little suspiciously while he scratched at his beard.

“Oh?” Dany challenged playfully, watching as he grew ever more uncomfortable before her. Briefly, her eyes flit over to be sure that Dr. Baratheon wasn’t considering seeing what the holdup was.

“Aye,” he admitted gruffly, clearing his throat. “He’s been going on about scoring a date for this...dance, gala thing in Winterfell in a few weeks. I told him to just get on with asking someone so I didn’t have to hear him whinge about it anymore.”

  
 _'I said not that one'._ Dany nodded slowly as she came to understand the encounter. Sort of. “And...that was his genuine attempt in asking someone?” She couldn’t help the rueful smile that crossed her face.

“Aye. He’s not as convincing as he likes to think he is. Bit of a ponce, really."

She hummed a laugh, studying him, then diverted her eyes back to the text below her. She was unfamiliar of the gala in Winterfell specifically, but it wasn't uncommon for send-off parties to take up residence in most provinces. It was an old tradition, reaching back as far as some of her great-great grandparents, wherein the retro dance clubs would host dancing, dinner and drinks while wives would see their husbands off to war. Oftentimes, nurses gathered there as well, and unwed soldiers swooped in to woo them for an evening of promise. It carried on years later, slightly more modernized, and far more widespread than just the capital as it had been.

Jon’s eyes were practically burning holes through her, she could feel it. Had the men all been like that, or was she only feeling that now, from him in particular? It was throwing off her concentration, forcing her to reread the same wording twice over; the very same phrases she had been digesting for over an hour now suddenly didn't compute. What was wrong with her? And, contradictorily, he was one of the least chatty. Her eyes strained to keep them on the paperwork below, flipping to the next page. 

Jon Stark was in overall excellent health, fit physically, nearly up-to-date on vaccinations, passed his endurance test with the highest marks (a brutal process: six hours of exerting every single muscle in one's body, and that was besides training for their particular branch they were corresponding with; his was the Westeros Air Force). She was impressed, but wasn’t allowed to be, really. Per the rules, she was to remain neutral at all times.

From just her peripheral, Jon appeared to tense up just slightly when she moved on. Subconsciously, she realized she was the one holding up the growing line, and she needed to get this over with. One she reached the birth certificate, she confirmed his name was consistent, then proceeded to the next step. “I need a government-issued I.D., please.”

“Er- really?” He faltered.

Dany brought her head up to look at him questioningly. Surely he remembered her asking Mr. Greyjoy the same? Perhaps he hadn't been paying attention. Things were a bit overwhelming, after all. “It’s only protocol,” she explained calmly.

Before she could ask him again, he looked around briefly, pressing his lips into a thin line as he reached into a back pocket and withdrew a wallet. She didn’t miss the discreet shake of his hand as he did so and placed it in her hand. She was profoundly confused as to what the issue was, unless...

Jon _Snow_ . _Shit_. 

Children who were not born to wedded parents were given particular surnames that were reserved for them, solely, as having such relations were still considered unconventional and acutely frowned upon by the government. Those in power considered illegitimate children lesser beings. It was preposterously unfair, and ludicrous that the country had not progressed beyond their antiquated perceptions.

But, as it happened, it was the law. It didn’t matter what she, or Jon, or anyone in that room felt about it. She had to wonder how he managed to come to acquire a false document, especially one so imperative as a birth certificate.

Her eyes dragged up to meet his, which were full of wordless pleading. And her heart sank, knowing what was to come, and what it would entail. She had to deny him. All of her hardened exterior wilted away. “I...I’m sorry,” she said in a murmur, wishing to at least reserve some of his dignity without an audience. “This is a fraudulent document; I can’t sign off on this.”

She could hear his breath hitch, his eyes widening for one fleeting second. “Please,” he whispered roughly, setting his jaw, his brow heavy. “I want to fight.”

Dany’s mouth parted open, craning to the side to see just how backed up they were getting. If she didn’t do this now, Dr. Baratheon was sure to pull her aside in front of everyone. She returned her attention to him, sitting up straighter. “This is _illegal_. The military does not accept-”

“I _know_ what I am,” he bristled, the pang of hurt and resentment in his voice making her flinch. “It shouldn’t mean I am any less capable of protecting innocent lives. You saw the rest of my record, correct?”

“Of course I did, but-”

“Just pass me. _Please_ ,” he begged, some of the edge softening.

It was completely unfair, and unethical, she knew. To be bastard-born - which was a terrible moniker in and of itself - and refused the right to serve one’s country. It made no sense to her, and it was unjust, but it was not in her authority to contradict the rules. Still, a deep crease wrinkled Dany’s brow as he glanced over his shoulder for a moment. “Do you have any idea what that would mean for me? The moment I sign my name on this form - if officials see I’ve approved a false document, they will revoke my license!”

“Daenerys?” Dr. Baratheon called, hands clasped behind his back as he slowly made his way toward her. She jumped, and straightened her back so that she drew a little closer to within Jon’s earshot only. Perhaps her voice had raised an octave without realization. “Is there an issue?”

“I’m alright,” she returned to her advisor without breaking hardened eye contact with Jon. At some point, unbeknownst to her as to when, he had bent a bit at the waist and his hand was braced against the form below her. He was so close that she could faintly smell something on him, perhaps his shampoo, and it made her a bit lightheaded, which was the last thing she needed right now.

His gaze was intense, hopeful. She did her best to keep her voice steady and maybe a little unforgiving. She couldn’t be soft, not in her profession. If she did as he asked, it could be seven years of her life all for naught. Likely, she would end up drowning her sorrows in some job she loathed - perhaps behind a stale cubicle or as someone’s house maid. Firmly, she stated her decision. “I’m sorry. I’m obligated to abide by the law.”

Raising her pen, she craned her head down to seek the denial signature line, and then suddenly his hand shifted to rest upon her other hand resting atop the table. The motion thrust her from her task, once more, eyes instantly moving to their hands and straight to his face with plain bewilderment. “The only thing that separates me from any other competent man in this room, is that my parents were unwed. I never even knew my mother. Why should that be held against me?"

If only he knew how savagely this was eating at her, wearing her down, as he then struck a personal cord. She never knew her mother, either. But if she budged even a little, there would be no turning back. She was convinced he might stay here all night begging for her signature of approval.

He drew in a breath, his soulful, imploring, beautiful grey pools darting between each of hers. Her heart hammered against the confines of her sternum, stomach rolling mercilessly. "Please," he whispered once more, the small tilt of his head accentuating appeal. He knew she was cracking. She knew, as well. And she did not get the feeling he was being insincere, nor just trying to get on her good side.

She was vaguely aware of the gentle squeeze from his hand when Dr. Baratheon started her way again.

"You must swear to me, right now, that nobody will come to know of what happened here today," she demanded in a low voice, taking her hand back from his light grip before anyone could accuse them of indecent behavior.

"What?" He barely moved his lips, shifting back to his normal position of standing. 

Dr. Baratheon approached their table, though Dany pretended not to acknowledge him much. From here, as she read over the last page one final time and returned his I.D. card to him casually, she could see the doctor inspecting her progress. He gave her a ten second warning before he would need to dismiss her in favor of a replacement, then walked away.

The moment he was out of sight, Jon leaned in again, though only a shred. "Listen-"

Before she, or he, could change her mind, she found her hand scribbling her name below the Citadel Seal of Legitimacy - a terrible brand, truly. She hoped to see the day such an amendment was abolished. Jon stood there, silent as a ghost, stunned, then murmured, "thank you".

Once the ink was dried, she hastily closed the folder as if getting it out of sight would permanently forgive her most unlawful actions. Standing to her feet, folder clutched firmly to her, she finally brought her eyes up to meet his. For the second time that evening, she'd all but forgotten how to breathe. His gaze pierced right through her, the gratefulness for putting her job on the line for him evident. He was a bit shorter than the average man, she noted, though where he lacked in height, he appeared to make up for in lean bulk.

Somewhere within her she found her voice. "Follow me," she said, bringing him around to a bed and curtained off the area. She knew that it was a very confined space, but it suddenly felt suffocating. It was so compact, one could not outstretch their arms without touching the drapes. 

There was some justice to be had, however, as she prepared two syringes. Luckily, there was an additional vaccination he required, so she could poke him twice in recompance. She was determined for him to leave here with a _proper_ impression.

"I feel like I should find a way to express my gratitude, but nothing would be good enough," Jon said, his eyes set on the second needle, as he leaned back a bit onto the bed.

Arching an eyebrow as Dany filled the tube to the thick black line, she drew her eyes up to him. With one hand suspended, she whirled her index finger in a circular motion. “I need you to turn around and drop your pants.”

She had to bite back a grin as he blanched, clearly having expected her to propose an _actual_ remedy at his attempt to redeem himself. “I- what?” His widened, perplexed eyes found the needle in her hand - these were thicker than what was typical, given the dense layers of muscle they would need to puncture through.

Somehow, she refrained from breaking the facade, poker-faced and entirely entertained. “These absorb better in the glutes,” she stated simply. He balked, but she stopped him. “I’ve seen about three hundred asses today; by now they all look the same to me.”

He gawked at her, his head cocking ever so slightly to the side as, slowly, she could read levity brightening his gorgeous features. Without another word, he turned around, hands slipping into the waistband of the cotton pants that the men had been requested to wear for comfort and ease purposes. Dany clamped her teeth down onto her bottom lip and turned her face into the crook of her elbow, suppressing a giggle before shifting a little closer. The plain black, form-fitting t-shirt he wore accentuated his tapered and muscled physique, broad shoulders and biceps straining just so against the cuffs of the short sleeves.

Truthfully, he was a delightful treat on the eyes. She wouldn't doubt if he got away with a lot of things based on looks alone.

“Are you sure this is necessary? Nobody warned me I would have to be so...vulnerable,” he grumbled, the gravely northern accent seeping through as he dropped the pants and let them catch around his thighs. Somehow, he seemed determined not to let them drop further, as if that might redeem some dignity. Dany moved just off to the side, so that he could see she was not, completely, trying to peep a sinful view.

“Did you not see all of the other boys walking out of here as if they’d just left the battlefield?” She asked wryly, but humorously. With his elbows braced upon the bed before him, he craned his head behind his arm to look at her.

“No. Too nervous to worry about everyone else,” he said quietly.

And he looked it, too. That momentary confidence he had before she had passed him sloughed away to reveal a boyish fear in his face. Feeling a little remorseful, she stepped in front of him and, just a crack, pushed one of the curtains open, just enough for him to see that, indeed, there were a couple of high-pitched yelps followed by uneven gaits. “I promise it’s not quite so bad.”

His face was unreadable as she let the drape conceal their privacy again, rounding behind him once more. She was a filthy liar, because not only was his ass comparable, it was damn well perfect. A sly smile danced on her lips now that she was out of his view, then placed her left gloved hand on his right cheek, bringing a fleshy handful between index and thumb. His muscles were so taut, it was almost difficult to secure any at all. There was a small movement as he hung his head, undoubtedly bracing himself, and without warning, she drove the needle in with just a _little_ extra vigor than was necessary, a muted “ _fuck_ ” sounding from him. As she pushed the liquid through, she withdrew the needle and disposed of it before picking up the next one.

“How was that?” She asked with an extra layer of feigned sweetness, silently grasping the second needle.

“Not too - _fuck_!”

Dany gnashed her teeth together to conceal the chuckle threatening to escape her in a burst. When the medication drained, she tossed the syringe out along with her gloves and gave him the all clear as he pulled his pants back up and turned to face her. An adorable, faint blush dusted his cheeks where his facial hair did not cover.

“I deserved that,” he mused, looking at her with a resigned demeanor.

Dany brought her hands around from behind her back and gently, playfully, slapped the folder containing his completed paperwork to his chest. “That, and so much more. Now, stop distracting me so I may get back on schedule,” she said, most of her previous irritation subsided. She pulled open the curtains and as she stepped behind him, his eyes followed her until she placed her hands at his back and pushed him out of the tiny makeshift room.

“Distracting you?” He inquired, curiosity piqued as he came to a full stop just outside the barrier.

“Yes. Goodbye!” She waved him off, turning on her heel. The collective body heat in the room was on the brink of making her sweat. At least, that's what told herself.

“Wait,” he called, and Dany turned to face him a few feet away now, briefly looking over her shoulder to be sure that nobody was throwing her any irked scowls. With mild curiosity, she considered him, arms crossed loosely. His face had softened considerably, crossing the space between them, but leaving a respectful distance. “What time do you get out of here?”

Such a simple query shouldn’t have both confounded and flattered her in equal measure, finding it more and more difficult to punish him. She _had_ buckled, after all, but there was a distinct kindness, a sweetness, to his eyes that he continued to use on her when she _really_ needed to get back to her work. 

Realizing she hadn’t answered in an acceptable amount of time, she closed her eyes for a second and briefed over the seemingly endless line still filing in through the door, releasing the slightest huff of a laugh before seeking him again. “It’s supposed to be seven, but I’m afraid I must tend to the rest of these dashing men until they are no more,” she granted him a tiny smile.

With a single nod, he drew in his plush bottom lip for a moment. “Alright,” he stated simply, his widening smile reaching his eyes, but she was only able to relish in it in a flash as he took a few steps backward, then turned and continued his way out of the exit without any clarification as to what ‘ _alright_ ’ meant.

With a shake of her head at his odd behavior, Dany made her legs walk as fast as possible to return to her seat before someone had the chance to reprimand her, finding the rest of the evening excessively distracted by thoughts of Jon Snow.

* * *

✈️👗💄🐺

* * *

As it turned out, many of the men had difficulty with the sight exam, a couple dozen had concerning heart issues, and a handful more had passed out at the injection stations. Dany pitied them; they were brave men, after all, putting themselves on the frontlines, and were quite likely more than qualified to do so, but the pre-qualifications stumped some of them. She couldn’t imagine the gut-punch that must have been, to be disqualified after committing themselves to the task. But, she supposed they couldn’t very well be thrust onto a battlefield, or in the skies, only to become easy bait to the enemy.

Otherwise, the remaining process went mostly uneventful, though trying to cram in three thousand volunteers in the span of a few hours proved fruitless. It was a little after eight o’clock by the time Dany had risen from her seat after the last of them left the building, her hand feeling relatively cramped and the rest of her utterly exhausted. Her girlfriends were kind enough to offer to stay behind with her to clean up their stations in preparation for tomorrow evening’s round.

After everything was back in an orderly fashion, Dany removed her apron and headwrap and made headway to the exit as she stepped out into the cooler night air with Margaery, Missandei, and Talisa. Across grassy plains, the half moon reflected in rippled waves upon the grassy hills, creating a mesmerizing effect. The trees sung amidst the gentle breeze, leaves rustling and hissing as they rounded the corner.

“I’m going to sleep until noon tomorrow, I can just feel it,” Talisa yawned, bringing a slim hand to her mouth.

“I don’t know how you do it, Dany, in those stilettos of yours,” Margaery quipped playfully.

Dany chuckled softly. “Believe it or not, they’re feeling _very_ sore after today. I think flats are in order for tomorrow.”

As they walked through the heart of the city, the nightlife was only beginning to ramp up. The streets were crowding with eager youngsters and filling up the pubs and late-night diners. It was typical for the bustle to stretch late into the night; sometimes it was difficult to find any semblance of quiet in their cracker box of an apartment, but tonight seemed particularly rambunctious.

"Oh!" Missandei exclaimed, lifting onto her toes as they all followed her gaze toward the coast of the beach. Just beyond the trees lining the boardwalk, Dany could just make out the bright, dotted lights against the navy blue sky. "I forgot the carnival was in tonight."

"You couldn't pay me to ride one of those," Dany said, nodding in the direction of the massive ferris wheel. "I have gooseflesh just thinking about it."

"It wouldn't be _that_ far of a drop," Margaery ribbed, "and at least you'd land in the sand."

Collectively they giggled, then decided to stop at one of their favorite taverns - The Prancing Pony. As exhausted as Dany was, and on the verge of declining, reality struck her that once the war began in six weeks time, there would be little to no time to treat themselves, so they would make the most out of their normalcy as they could.

Something caught Dany’s eye just beyond where they walked. A figure stood and began to walk their way; it was so dark where this person was, without quite reaching the street lamps that highlighted the sidewalk, that they began to whisper to one another if they should make a break for it. Nighttime in King’s Landing tended to bring out the strangest people, though typically not when it was so rampant.

But, just as they agreed to keep walking and take an alternate route, it was Jon that stepped into the halo of light, eyes never leaving Dany’s. She could feel her girlfriends tittering about her, heads turning to ask her silent questions that she already knew she would later have to answer. Briefly, Jon looked to the other three and gave a polite nod before stopping a few short feet away from her, hands stuffed in his pockets. “Hello.”

The rush of adrenaline that coursed through her had her wondering if she would be left with a voice at all, but alas, she returned with, “Hello,” and looked around as if expecting his own friends to show their faces. Looking back at him, he watched her as if she were a wonder, and the charged energy that shifted between them she was certain even the girls could feel it. The secret shared exclusively between them felt as though it was written plain on her face for all to read, but it would stay between Daenerys Targaryen and Jon Snow.

The three of her friends were restless, then stilled as Dany and Jon began to exchange greetings.

“What are you doing out here in the dark, alone? No Mr. Greyjoy?” She asked, bringing her hands forward to clutch her small purse before her.

He huffed a small laugh. "He latched onto some poor girl at the fair." Again, Jon considered her friends, grimacing ever so slightly, seemingly weighing whatever it was he wanted to say with much debate. “I thought I might ask you out for dinner,” he said, a small exhale following his words as a hand lifted to scratch at his beard. A nervous tick, she noticed.

Eyebrows shooting up to her hairline, Dany had tried, so very hard, not to smile, but even as her teeth caught her bottom lip, her lips widened on their own accord. The three ladies around her snickered and giggled, which was making this interaction that much more painfully awkward when it likely didn’t need to be so. She dropped her head to look at her feet, rocking on them for a second before bringing her head back up to see him. She couldn’t read his face. But for whatever reason, Jon had a pull on her that she could not figure out. There wasn’t a time, in recent memory - or _any_ memory, really - that she could recall a man wooing her so effortlessly. She felt like a godsdamned blushing maid. She should have loathed him. A mere stranger in the crowd, one of thousands and thousands she would encounter over a few days time, who should have been just another face among many. 

“May I ask why?” She inquired with a straight face, one corner of her mouth threatening to lift; she already knew what her answer would be, had decided the moment he said his last word, but how amusing it was to make him squirm...just a bit.

Even so, he didn’t falter. “It’s my poor attempt at redeeming my good name,” he gave her a knowing look, the very knowledge of his innuendo passed between them, “and to convince you not to hate me.”

Sighing quietly, Dany looked over her shoulder; indeed, they were all gathered together in a small, tight circle, and Dany could only roll her eyes until she faced Jon again. He looked utterly tortured with every passing half second he had to wait. “We were actually just heading out for drinks, if you'd like to join us? But first,” Dany held up her index finger against her stipulation after he nodded his agreement. Her friends waited with baited breath as to what would follow. His eyebrows lifted just so, anticipating her follow-up. “You have to at least promise me that you’re not an undercover serial killer, or anything like that.”

The girls behind her giggled, and Dany did everything in her power to not relinquish a laugh of her own, pressing her lips together. 

For a long moment, Jon could only stare at her, then his eyes slowly closed, reopening with a huff of a laugh. “Right. Of course I’m not; I swear it," he returned, then his brow wrinkled. “Are _you_?” He barely put any earnest into the inquisition, and his eyes held a glint of humor in them.

This time, the lot of them burst into a fit of hysterics, though Dany managed to keep somewhat of a level tone. She shook her head. “I’m afraid I wouldn't have the time. I lead a rather chaste life."

Again, more chuckles from the peanut gallery as she watched Jon smile and duck his head, shuffling his feet. Just behind her, barely only within Dany's earshot, Margaery made some bold comment about giving Jon the best sex of his life as a parting gift, to which Dany sharply silenced her. Jon wasn't all that far away from their little bubble, and every tiny hair on Dany's body stood to attention. It wasn’t unusual for said affairs to take place, especially on the eve of war when emotions ran high, but even if something like that _would_ cross Dany’s mind _..._ she would want to get to know the man first. At least a little bit.

Smiling triumphantly, Dany said, “Right this way, lieutenant.”

* * *

✈️👗💄🐺

* * *

They came upon the center of the bustling city where raucous laughter seeped through the inns and pubs, the sidewalks much more heavily populated even here. Jon lightly placed his hand at her back and directed her toward one of many doors along the strip, using his other to open the door for her and her friends. The place was completely packed with people, from the bar to the booths. It was a delightfully charming establishment, its interior - the bar was one long, curved counter with stools affixed before it, and padded vinyl turquoise booths sitting opposite a circular table. Long strips of neon lighting along the ceiling, of pink and blue, painted the room in a lavender hue.

Her friends were quick to abandon Dany’s side the moment they walked inside, Missandei giving her a friendly squeeze of her arm as she passed by. When Dany turned her attention to Jon beside her, she caught him ogling, just as his cheeks pinked. It was a lovely sight to catch him off his suave guard, his eyes quick to find the bar.

Stifling a laugh, she led the way over to two empty plush stools. Between the noise of the customers and the music, she wondered if they would make much progress in the way of conversing. He sat to her left, and in the clear light, out of the environment of her duties, she could more clearly absorb his features. Brow pinched just so at the posted board scribbled with their nightly drink specials, as if deciding on his drink of choice was most perplexing, high cheek bones, dark lashes that accentuated deep grey-brown eyes and just barely swept the tops of his cheeks..

“You’re terribly obvious, you know,” he said suddenly, voice on the rough side and just audible over the commotion around them.

Eyes widening a bit, she gave him a fictitious look of bewilderment as he looked up from those beautiful lashes to peer at her. “I have no idea what you mean,” she lied, making as much of an effort as he just had in reading the available drinks.

She could hear him snort, as she then flattened her arms atop the cool bartop. “You have some explaining to do, lieutenant,” she accused gently, eager to distract him from the notion that she was admiring her view.

He chuckled quietly - the first time she heard somewhat of a genuine laugh out of him, and a pleasant sound at that - giving a nonchalant shrug. “It’s really not too exciting. I have a good friend at the Citadel. He did the dirty work for me, with the whole name thing, as repayment for...some things I did for him years ago.”

Dany narrowed her eyes at him, tilting her head slightly, a silent question.

He smiled, something shy, averting his gaze briefly. “We went to school together, and he was bullied a lot. So...I had a hand in straightening those guys out until they stopped pestering him.”

Pushing up on her elbows straighter, she observed him, altogether pleasantly surprised to discover affirmation of a kind heart. “So, you bullied the bullies?”

Head bouncing left to right, that bashful half smile returned. “Essentially.” He paused as the bartender reached them and took up their orders. Jon settled for an ale, and Dany for a strawberry daiquiri.

Off to the other side, the dance floor was so thick with people, Dany wondered how any of them were moving at all.

A question loomed on her tongue, though she felt it was teetering on the edge of improper to ask it, but it left her before she could think more on it. “Could you not have had someone in your family legitimize you?”

Something crossed Jon’s face then; for a fleeting moment, she thought it was anger, but then she recognized it something more akin to mournful. Mentally, she kicked herself; what a terribly rude thing to ask anyone, let alone an acquaintance. It presumed many things: _aren’t you ashamed of who you are, what your surname suggests? Is your family? Don’t you feel tainted, below society?_   
  
She opened her mouth to redact it, to apologize, but he only smiled warmly at her, thawing the creeping chill of her uneasiness. “I don’t have any family. Not anymore, that is.”

Dany blinked, positive that the face she was giving him was one of pity, so she swallowed and digested what he just said while their drinks were placed before them. “Me, either,” she said quietly with a small smile. He almost looked visibly relieved, as if this mutually gloomy fact bonded them in some way. However, that wasn’t entirely _un_ true. Dany had never met anyone else who had to face life’s tribulations without the safety net of family to support them. Though, they were all very young yet; Dany’s predicament was decidedly unique. 

She had to smile at his decision on the typical drink of the north. "Where from the north are you from?" Dany asked him while their drinks were brought to them, crossing her arms around her glass, which was far larger than she anticipated, and leaning forward to sip from her straw.

“How could you tell?” He teased, wiping his mustache free of his ale when his face twisted into a pained grimace. “Winterfell,” he nearly choked. “Gods. Tastes like piss and tap water.”

Dany barked a laugh, throwing her hand over her mouth. “Get something else. On me,” she insisted, but he only shook his head.

Clearing his throat from the bitter drink, he paused after a moment, his eyes narrowed at her. “I can’t figure you out so easily. Your eyes are...unreal,” he breathed with a slight shake of his head. He was, blatantly, staring into her soul, what with his back leaned fully against the chair, one arm draped over it casually, and the other upon the counter. Even with a white button-down shirt he had changed into, she could make out traces of his solid form, the slight tug at the fabric cuffing his biceps. “They remind me of the ocean,” he gestured his finger upward, by way of explaining that he meant by air.

Dany found herself flushing for the umpteenth time that evening, idly swirling her straw. “Alright, you. I was born at Dragonstone, but after a few years my father moved us to Pentos, across the Narrow Sea. Both of my parents originate from Essos, so that explains…,” she made a vague gesture toward her lilac-indigo eyes, which were far more a common trait of the east. “Eventually, I brought myself back here, because this felt more like home."

Dany shifted her hands, linking them beneath her chin with elbows propped on the marble counter. Jon's brows lifted, searching her face, calculating something privately. "You? Not your family?"

With a shake of her head, she leaned forward to take a hefty sip of her drink first. "I only had my father and my brother, and they both died. My brother, well before his time, at the Trident."

Jon's lips parted open at her response, moving to sit forward, closer so that they didn’t have to strain their voices so much. It brought him much closer into her space, and it was intimidating to be able to see him so openly. She could feel wafts of heat radiating off of his body. Though he was persistent in his efforts earlier, there was a boyish, shy quality to both his facial expressions and body language, even amidst his sometimes-cheeky charm. "My uncle and grandfather fought and died at the Trident. A brutal affair."

Dany cocked her head just slightly; the Trident had claimed thousands of lives, and had been deemed the deadliest war in their country’s history. What was frightening was that this Essosi war against the slavers was predicted to be even worse. “Those who came back were never the same, or so I’d heard,” she said.

"How old were you? When you came back here, I mean."

She smiled demurely. "Sixteen."

" _Sixteen_?" His eyes widened, and she nodded in return. He turned his head then, a look of exasperation painting his features.

"How did you support yourself so young?" He asked softly, seemingly more intrigued by her than dishing on himself.

She had to think for a small while; it had been eight years ago, and felt like just yesterday and half a lifetime ago all at once. "My father left a bit of money; not a lot, but enough to get me by until I was of working age."

He gave a slow nod of understanding, suddenly remembering his abandoned ale. "And you enjoy what you do?" He asked after a pause, his eyes only leaving her when he made to sip his drink, despite its terrible taste.

"I _love_ what I do. Even when I get some...difficult subjects," she exhaled a dramatic sigh and arched her eyebrow in his direction, innocently sipping her drink.

Slowly, his smile reached his eyes, and now he purposely avoided looking at her. "I love what I do, too. There isn't much I wouldn't do to keep it that way."

Dany cocked her head slightly, but he was receding, broodish man that he seemed to be. "Jon," she called, forcing his attention. His name sounded pleasantly unfamiliar on her tongue. He did as such, straightening in his chair as if preparing for a scolding of some degree. "I'm not angry with you. I was, a little bit. More agitated, I suppose," she reflected thoughtfully, "and I _do_ hope that someone doesn’t catch either of us. But, I know what it is to cherish the things that make you feel whole, or...give you some sense of belonging, so…," she smiled and drew in a breath, uncertainty blanketing her, knowing full well that a bastard’s life was incomparable to what civilization deemed orthodox.

For a second, she thought his eyes had glossed over, turned watery, but she couldn't be sure as he blinked and ducked his head to find interest in his glass cup once more. She let him be, thinking maybe it was silly to suggest she could empathize with him, but then he muttered, "I wouldn’t say I yearn for a sense of belonging, but...thank you". The coyness she had witnessed earlier returned, to which she found decidedly precious.

He was passionate about his work, and she couldn't fault him for that.

“It’s unfair,” she said, fingers idly tracing shapes in the thin frost against her cup, eyes following the movements, even when his eyes seemed to be doing that thing again, wherein they blaze right through her skin. “I’ve met many people considered...a higher status, or class, for lack of a better term, who deserved far less but got away with much more. And, without so much as lifting a finger to get there.”

He was quiet for a beat, seeming to mull over her words. “I think you may be the only person I’ve met who has said it out loud.”

That both astonished and disheartened her; how much of his life was spent drowning in ridicule because of something so...inconsequential? Finally, she tore her attention away from the condensation below her finger to see him, his warm eyes molten.

“It’s almost prohibited to even breathe the same air as me,” he responded, his mouth twisting into a half, sad smile, making her stomach lurch. “Nobody wants to give you a chance when you’re a bastard.”

Dany’s eyes squeezed shut at the word, shaking her head as if to be rid of it from her ears, opening them once more to a grimace. “Please don’t use that word. I don’t like it.”

If one could wilt under the gaze of affection, she may have done just so right then, with the way he was fixed on her now. It was probably a bit of a paradox, to be telling _him_ that such a moniker was uncomfortable for her, when he surely was beaten with it his entire life. If he felt that way, he said nothing, but the pleasant silence stretched on only a moment longer. Two more drinks and friendly conversation later, she was feeling a slight buzz coursing through her, and decided now would be a good time to hold off on anymore, lest she say or do something regrettable. Plus, the last thing she wanted was to battle a hangover tomorrow.

“May I ask you something?” She inquired, after their dishes were cleared from the table.

Jon shifted in his seat, something he had been doing much of that evening, and she privately wondered if she had made him uncomfortable at some point. “Anything,” he replied, voice thicker with gravel.

“Do you ever feel afraid?” She asked. “To go out there and know there’s a chance you might not come back.” It was probably a forward question - it was frowned upon to make such a query, to discuss the war at any level of detail.

Without hesitation, he responded, “no.”

Somehow, his instantaneous reaction rattled her a bit, though she didn’t know what she expected. These men went through vigorous training, unwavering commitment, and extensive exercises at every capacity, for years to be able to be granted this very desire. Even though she worked in the field, and she felt she had a degree of understanding and acceptance to it, she could probably never empathize with the notion of _craving_ the battlefield. She admired them, and him, for it regardless, but the prospect of so much bloodshed never sat well with her. She despised it, even if she understood it.

He seemed to notice her disquiet as he returned to his former position with his arms folded upon the counter, nearly mimicking her own. “It’s about the only thing that has felt absolute, for me.”

His voice carried low, and there was something stirring well beneath those rich brown pools that she couldn’t quite place. Something a little bit wild, she thought, maybe for the fact that piloting a fighter plane would extract just that.

Still, it elicited a blaze low in her belly.

The slow dancing beside them caught her eye again. “Are you not going to ask me to dance, Jon Snow?”

He looked as though he would rather excuse himself right out of the diner, if his baffled change in demeanor was anything to go by. He actually looked quite tortured. “Gods, if I wanted to completely disgrace myself, maybe.”

It was a relief, then, when the bartender rounded them one final time to ask if they needed anything further, because whatever it was that was passing between them was becoming so charged that it was nearing making her restless. 

Then, he leaned in further, and asked if she wanted to sneak out of there, to which she agreed barely after the last word left his mouth. Her friends would understand, anyway.

They had a small back-and-forth of who would actually pay for the drinks, but Jon had slipped the man a bill when Dany spared a minute to trudge through her little purse. There was a grin of satisfaction plastered firmly to his face, making her roll her eyes good-naturedly, but she managed to get away with leaving a healthy tip.

By the time they had left, the temperature had dropped and the breeze was just enough that it bit at her skin and legs beneath her dress. Subconsciously, she crossed her arms, hands running up and down the backs of them to keep them warm, until Jon muttered, “here”, and wrapped his charcoal grey tweed jacket around her shoulders before she could verbalize any complaints. The slightest graze of his fingers against the skin of her shoulders had her shiver in an entirely different way, to which she promptly told herself to get a grip.

“Thank you,” she murmured, eyes following him as he returned to her side while they made way for her flat. She clutched the edges of the fabric and cinched it closer to her body, the warmth and smell of Jon thawing her.

"Do you live in the city?" Dany asked after a time, ducking her head against the swift breeze.

"No, I'm still in the North. I don't expect I'll ever leave it, honestly," he said and buried his hands in his pockets. When she looked at him quizzically, he smiled coyly. "It's too bloody hot here. Even now - this is about as mild as it gets back home, if we're lucky."

Dany's brows raised. " _This_ is considered warm to you? I have gooseflesh."

He chuckled with a small shake of his head. "It'll warm up at home in the coming weeks, but nothing remotely close to what it's like here."

A chirp of vibrant laughter caught their attention as a young couple practically sprinted across them, shouting an apology as they stumbled, clearly drunk, in the direction of the fair. Dany watched Jon’s mystified expression with much interest, the reds and blues of the various rides and arcade machines splayed like a kaleidoscope over his face.

“You’ve never been to a fair, have you?” She asked, almost less a question and more a statement.

She seemed to throw him from his stupor, with a brief shake of his head. “No; I think the closest thing we have to this in the North is…,” his cheeks puffed out with air, and then he exhaled with a shrug and turned to look at her with a crooked grin, “nothing. We’re about as cut off from the modern world as you can get.”

Playfully, Dany made a sputtering sound and took a half step closer to him. “You need to get out more, Jon Snow,” she said with a sigh, then looped her arm around his and tugged him toward the bells and jingles of the festival. “Come on.”

* * *

✈️👗💄🐺

* * *

“I haven’t been to one of these since I was little,” Dany murmured, dodging a blissfully happy child whose arms were up to his chin with raffle tickets, knocking into Jon as she did so with their arms still linked. The air was overwhelmed with scents of popcorn and sweets.

“I can see why,” he returned, his eyes seemingly uncertain on where to look with all of the sights and sounds fighting for their attention. “It’s entirely overwhelming.”

Dany chuckled lightly. “You’re not allowed to be grumpy here. Unless you work here, like that fellow,” she nudged her head up to the booth straight ahead of them, where a teenaged boy with short golden hair and a permanent scowl on his face was growing increasingly impatient with a child who couldn’t decide on her prize.

“Don’t make fun,” he said, his voice low and suddenly very close to her ear, making her shoulders jump and skin crawl, “that could’ve been me if it hadn’t been for you.”

“Oh, please,” she brushed his comment off, trying to ignore his close proximity, but every hair on her body standing to attention proved she was failing miserably. "It's not too late, you know. I could very well turn you in."

He gave her a look, somewhere between doubtful and tinged with wonder, but she made her tone wistful enough to assure him she wasn't truly serious. "You wouldn't. I wouldn't blame you if you did, but I can affirm that a beautiful face like yours has no place in a prison."

While she normally would have flushed at his passing compliment, she was more taken aback by his other remark. "Personal experience?" She asked, arching an eyebrow in his direction. As much as she tried to keep her voice steady, there was the slightest warble, and concern swept over his face fleetingly. Her stomach began to swirl anxiously.

_Am I bound to be disappointed? Was he actually a criminal, and that better explained his change in name?_

His eyes fell to the ground as they slowly weaved through the grounds, no particular destination in mind. "Don't forget, I promised I'm not a serial killer," he said in jest with a humorless laugh, in response to her own rigidity. "I was sent to Castle Black as a boy," he began, and already guilt seeped into her bones at her presumption that he had done wrong. The regret laced in his tone didn't go unnoticed. "It's…," he sighed heavily, and reassured her that he was comfortable speaking on it when she insisted otherwise. "Basically, it's a correctional center. For actual criminals and the like, but for bastard-born children, too. Sorry," he muttered when she flinched at the term, pulling her just a bit closer against his side.

Dany scowled deeply, hardly acknowledging the sights before them. "I've never heard of such a thing. I mean, for it to be used against…," she trailed off; she loathed that there was even a term for such children, as if they were required to be punished for something completely out of their hands.

"For children like me," he finished, and she gave him a sorrowful smile. 

"May I ask...what do they do there?" She inquired softly.

"Aye. They essentially try to break you; beat it into your head where your place is in the world versus anyone else." He said it so casually that she felt her head spin and stomach knot. "There's manual labor involved, as well. I suppose you can only fill the day with lectures for so long."

Dany blinked up at him, unaware as to when they had stopped walking, but he turned to face her. "That's absurd and...sounds entirely illegal," she fumed, searching him for any sign that he might redact his words and tell her it was all a joke. Alas, that wasn't the case. He smiled sweetly in return, and her anger dissipated.

"What? Why are you smiling?" She narrowed her eyes, lips ticking upward, and he resumed their walking.

"It's nothing," he said quietly, but a lazy smile still danced on his lips. "After my time there, it was outlawed to send b-, er… _illegitimate_ children there, unless they happened to have participated in illegal activities." 

Dany pressed her eyes closed a moment, opening them to observe the carefree, innocent nature of the children surrounding them, trying to picture their lives being upturned in such a despicable way.

"Alright," he interrupted her thoughts, gratefully so, "enough about that misery. You were supposed to show me why people seem to love this sort of thing."

" _So_ grumpy."

"Am not."

Abruptly, they came to a halt. Dany looked from Jon to what had grabbed his attention, and she immediately shook her head. "No. Anything but that one."

Jon turned to look at her, his face all screwed up to resemble something taunting. " _I'm_ the grumpy one?"

She resisted against him, disjoining their arms and standing her ground, though she was seconds away from bursting into a riot of laughter. Jon swiveled on his feet to send her a look of astonishment. "I utterly refuse," she stated as firmly as melted butter, a giggle already seeping into her voice at the devilish glimmer in his eye.

He stepped closer and extended his hand to her anyway. "Oh, come on. Why not?"

Stubbornly, she crossed her arms, eyes darting at the vomit-inducing, circular metal wheel spinning slowly toward the sky just beyond Jon's shoulder. She drew in a breath and put on her best stern inflection, which wasn't much. "I'm...afraid of heights." 

_And blatantly humiliating myself by getting sick all over you._

Jon manipulated his face to something warmer, but the man had that same twinkle in his eye. He closed most of the space between them, dropping his arm to his side as he did so. Dany kept her eyes hard on him, but her traitorous lips were twitching, threatening to dissolve her affirmation. "You know, the best way to overcome a fear is to face it head-on,” he said, brows raising expectantly.

“I’m very much comfortable with _not_ overcoming this one, though. That’s not really how I would choose to die,” she grimaced, eyeing the contraption as it stopped mid-spin, the little cars swaying, inciting a riot in her belly.

Jon followed her gaze, then acknowledged her once more. “At least it would probably be an instant death,” he shrugged nonchalantly, earning himself a solid swat of her hand to his chest. She may as well have smacked a stone wall for all that it affected him.

Still, he chuckled. “I will make it my job to get you to come around by the end of the night,” he said, lifting his wrist to check the time on his watch.

“Well, then I hope you enjoy disappointment,” she returned sassily, dissolving into a fit of giggles at his dumbfounded reaction.

In one swift movement, she felt the earth leave her feet as Jon swooped her up bridal-style, his tongue stuck between his teeth in a wide grin as he carried her across the grounds. She was so breathless with laughter that she couldn’t even find the words, nor the strength, to protest, tears pooling in her eyes when they reached the attendant. Plenty of confounded heads turned to watch them.

He set her down on her feet in the waiting line, and she used the sleeve of his coat that she still wore to dab at her damp eyes. “I’ve had about enough of you for one day,” she playfully condemned him, wrapping her arms around herself against the breeze.

Jon made a ticking sound with his mouth, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Somehow I doubt that. You could’ve sent me away hours ago.”

Slowly, she turned to look up at him, craning her head and worrying her lip. A _terribly_ vexing man. “Keep that up and I’ll test your ‘instant death’ theory.”

They both barked a laugh simultaneously, drawing further looks of annoyance from the people surrounding them.

It was a few minutes until they were boarding their little cart, Jon easing her up with his hand. “You’re shaking,” he noted, though with less whimsy than earlier. The wavering of their seat didn’t ease her tremble, either.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she cautioned quietly, her left hand white-knuckling the ledge once they began to move so the seat behind them could be loaded.

“Dany. My hand is numb,” Jon chuckled quietly, and she quickly loosened the grip she had on his hand that she had not realized she was still holding. Indeed, she left stark-white coloring behind on his skin.

Suddenly bashful, she squirmed slightly against the heat flourishing beneath her clothing. “Sorry,” she whispered, though he looked anything but. Instead, he lifted said arm and wound it just behind her shoulders, somewhere between not wanting to contact her too much, but making its presence known.

Finally, they were off, and Dany did her best not to shrink within the depths of his coat. Instead, she kept her head downcast, peeking up every so often. Jon, on the other hand, remained perfectly calm, though that didn’t surprise her one bit. She, on the other hand, had suddenly resorted to being a frightened child.

“On an average day we fly about...a little over seventy times the highest point of this wheel,” Jon mused, as if that very fact would ease her stress.

Dany only managed a simple ‘mm-mm’ with a resilient shake of her head, fixating her eyes on her feet before her. The wind kicked up the further they got, and she wasn’t sure if she was shivering out of fear, cold, or that Jon shifted his arm fully around her now, the warmth of his hand cupping her shoulder.

“Dany,” he murmured, his voice suddenly closer than it had been, “look.”

There was a small jolt as the wheel stopped, and Dany, tentatively, lifted her head to find only the vast black sea out ahead of them, gentle waves lapping at the reflection of the crescent moon above. It was often difficult to see the stars in the capital, as the light pollution easily blurred them out, but from this height, she could actually make out several of them straight above their heads. She was hyper aware of Jon’s thumb caressing its resting spot on her shoulder, a gesture of comfort. Feeling a bit more content - so long as she didn’t let her eyes drift to the land directly below them - she let her head fall against his shoulder, his hand pulling her just slightly closer, more snug against his side.

They were allowed about five minutes of Dany _just_ beginning to forget how high above everyone else they were, until they moved once more, and this time _backwards_. Something about the exhilaration had her legs feeling as though they lost all use of muscle, and this time she truly relied on Jon’s grip to be sure she stepped off the platform without planting her face firmly into the metal grating.

“Well? What did you think?” He asked after they had been walking for some time, his curious eyes falling onto her.

“Hm,” she hummed, purposely dragging out her hesitation. “Terrible. Horrific. Never again,” she smiled sweetly, granting a playful eye-roll and grunt from Jon beside her as he leaned his arm into hers.

* * *

✈️👗💄🐺

* * *

They had stayed until the groundskeeper had to practically drag them both out of the facility. She didn’t fault them, as they probably caused too much of a ruckus between their incessant flirting and goofy banter. 

In recompense for Jon’s ferris wheel persuasion, she had talked him into bumper cars, but convinced him to be their driver. It had been an age since she had last driven an actual car, since all of her necessary travels were within walking distance, and she was sure she would give them both some severe whiplash, if not worse, should she get behind the wheel. Needless to say, Jon took it far more seriously than she expected, even ruthless against some of the competitors who seemed to be aiming specifically for their car.

And once more, she had been rendered a chortling mess, yelping and clinging to Jon’s arm every time they were thwarted by other drivers.

He didn’t completely understand her obsession for ski ball, asking why she couldn’t just walk up to the holes and drop the balls in for easy raffle earnings. She had sighed dramatically at him, insisting that that, obviously, removed the point of the challenge. He seemed more fond of some of the more competitive games, such as one wherein he had to shoot a tiny water gun on a target attached to a little doll, until it struck a bell at the end of the track. Incidentally, his deep concentration, as if his very life depended on it, rubbed off on Dany, and she found herself cheering him on and jumping up and down despite her heels when he succeeded.

She took over as a guide, since not only were the rides and activities new to him, but so were all of the different food stands. Cotton candy was a must, but he despised the spun sugar, and she was pretty certain he only ate it to appease her. Their roasted turkey legs were decent enough, but tasted as though they had sat on the spit for a bit too long. The only thing their taste buds mutually agreed upon was their soft-serve ice cream. As Jon had said, how could one fuck _that_ up?

By the end, they each had armfulls of tickets, and Dany had persuaded Jon that they combine them so that he could choose his prize, since he was the guest here. It took him almost no time at all, though she didn't anticipate him to have chosen a stitched doll shaped like a wolf, and he looked pleased as punch with his choice. He mentioned that it looked similar to his dog back at home.

  
  


They were both feeling well worn on their walk toward Dany’s flat - it was nearing midnight, and Dany had begun her day at five a.m. If it weren’t for the chill, she was almost certain her eyes would close on her mid-walk.

And if not for Jon’s hand threaded with hers, which was setting her nerves alight.

Dany smiled and suddenly remembered something from earlier in the day, biting back a laugh, but it was evident on her face that something was on her mind.

"What has you so smug?" He ribbed, gently nudging her with his elbow.

Dany let out a small snort, bringing her free hand up to cover her mouth. "I have a confession to make."

He looked her way, curiosity written all over his face, but she could hardly meet his gaze. Her shoulders shook as she tried to suppress an outburst of laughter. "Oh, gods. Let's hear it," he said, his tone laced with humor.

When Dany controlled herself, she blotted away the dampness gathering at the corners of her eyes. "You remember that second shot I gave you?"

Jon scoffed. "You mean the one that felt like it went through the other side? Aye, I remember."

Dany had to practice deep breaths before she could speak again. "Well, that one actually could've been done in your arm. And, with a lot less force."

"I fucking knew it!" He exclaimed, his clenched grin so wide that Dany fell into stitches at his side. "You're an evil woman. Do you know how hard it was to sit still all night? I didn't want you to think you had the upper hand."

Dany flat out could not breathe, absolutely tickled with herself - she _had_ noticed, but assumed he was nervous. Jon, utterly amused, chuckled alongside her, shaking his head with feigned disbelief.

"As you said earlier, you deserved it," she remarked, earning herself a scowl from him.

"Well, I'm happy you're so pleased with yourself, but I'm afraid I came out on top."

"Oh? How so?" Dany challenged, face sore from the permanent grin stuck on her face.

Jon scratched at his beard, looking about, at anything but her. "Well, I scored myself a date with possibly - no, _definitely_ \- the most beautiful woman I've ever met, and I think I may have convinced her to forgive me. Maybe."

Dany pressed her lips together in a tight smile, eyes trained on the pavement below them. Heat blistered her skin from her hair to her toes. "A date, hm? Why didn't you tell me?"

They turned a corner, down the street that led to her place. It was a narrow path, laden on each side with stucco-walled buildings, muffled sounds of the residents filling their ears. "Guys like me don't get girls like you. I wouldn't want to get my hopes up. I still don’t."

"For someone who claims to never get the girl, you sure have a way with words with them," she said gently, glimpsing up to see her door quickly approaching, doing her best to will away the way in which her nerves came to life, and blood relentlessly rushed to her heart to make it thump rapidly against her chest.

A crooked smile danced on his face, his other hand still tucked in his pocket, seeming to find it suddenly just as intimidating to meet her gaze as they both avoided doing so. As if they had not spent the past several hours partaking in a ritual laden with teasing. "It's only luck, if it works."

"You are far too hard on yourself," she noted sternly, tilting her head to see him properly. Her change in tone seemed to draw him out of his brood-ish head space. He was nervous, she observed, as she fetched her keys from her little clutch purse while they approached her door.

She stepped onto the first step of the stoop and turned to face him. Even with heels on, she only was barely a half head taller than him where she stood. His charcoal eyes watched her intently, and she was suddenly struck with an overwhelming sense of melancholy. Somehow, she managed to level her voice, her stomach churning mercilessly and heart hammering against her chest. He was closer than she remembered him being. “Well, one might say you _did_ have the upper hand. I had a very lovely evening,” she conceded.

It had only occurred to her, once they had made their way onto her street, that she would likely never see him again. She quickly decided that she didn’t wish for that to be the case, but with the war looming, and him having to go back north eventually, her chances seemed rather slim. They had only met mere hours ago, and yet she was eager to see him again.

By the gods, he enraptured her.

Jon blew out a breath, then beamed up at her, taking a half step closer so that now, she could clearly see the rich color of his irises. “Aye, me too,” he rasped, eyes dragging down the length of her face.

She swallowed, and was certain he noticed, as his eyes found hers again. With her ears buzzing and her heart punching the cage of her chest, she met his inquisitive gaze. “Will I see you again?” She could feel her traitorous emotions threatening to trip up her voice, the slightest warble on her last syllable. Even her eyes began to warm, the slightest sting wanting to push tears through, but she managed to keep it together. For seven’s sake, she was acting like some love-struck maid.

Her question seemed to take him by surprise, ducking his head and shuffling his foot against the pavement, and she thought she spied a grin in there somewhere. No doubt was he pleased with the turnout of the evening; when he looked up at her again, his face was so unmistakably taken by her, and all she could think was _fuck, I’m in trouble_.

“Would you like to?” He finally asked, his voice ragged, but full of sincere wonder, as if she might redact it. Untrusting to her own voice, she nodded, if not a little too eager. When he lifted his chin to see her more properly, he was only a mere couple of inches away now, and just slightly below her eye level, eyes heavy with some semblance of desire. Subconsciously, she drew in a breath and held it deep within her lungs, feeling her nerves come to life. “Let’s make that happen, Dany,” he all but whispered, his eyes slowly traveling down her face until they paused at her lips.

She watched his throat bob with a hard swallow, then his arm was moving on its own accord, smoothing over her cheek. The motion stole the breath from both of them simultaneously. With a timid smile, Dany leaned down until she could feel his breath tickling her skin, could see the brownish specks in his eyes. 

"What if I told you I don't kiss on the first date?" She whispered weakly, so close that barely any movement at all would have their lips touching.

She felt his other hand situate itself at her hip, a feather of a touch while his eyes remained focused on her lips. The dark lashes accentuated his eyes beautifully. "What if I told you I like to break the rules sometimes?"

Dany moved to press her forehead against his. If she was going to do this, this was going to be a commitment, because Daenerys Targaryen was not one to pursue something only to let it fall by the wayside halfway through. With her mouth widening to a grin, she nodded. "Me, too," she whispered, barely audible over the outside noises around them.

Without further hesitation, Jon tilted his chin up to capture her lips, sighing sweetly against her as he did. The pent-up tensions that had gathered in her spine ruptured, seeping into her every muscle and jumpstarting her heart.

His lips were even softer than she would have assumed them to be; being in higher elevations was not always so kind on the skin. She could just make out the sweetness of the ale he had earlier, but there was something else; perhaps the sweets they shared earlier. 

And, gods, he smelled wonderful. Woodsy, earth-like, as if the infamous ironwoods coursed through his blood and pores. Probably just Jon.

It was a simple, tender kiss, but it had her head spinning so wildly off-center that she thought she might very well lose her balance, and as if reading her thoughts, he clutched his hand tighter to steady her at her waist just as she braced hers atop his taut shoulders.

Before they could share any more time enveloped together, the unmistakable shrieking giggle of Margaery’s voice cut through their stupor from somewhere behind Jon. Gods love her, but Dany felt she could bludgeon her friend right then. Jon froze against her, and she could feel his lips twitch into a smile, to which she broke their embrace to bite her lip with a snicker.

Opening her eyes, their faces remained close, their noses brushing briefly until she pulled away enough to see her friends approaching. Each of them was using the other for balance, and Dany had to wonder just how much they had to drink.

Jon turned, taking one hand back but leaving the other at her hip. Talisa gasped as she was the first to witness their close embrace on their doorstep. Jon waved timidly as the rest of them followed suit and stopped so abruptly they nearly trampled over one another.

"Ladies," Dany greeted, but with a tone of caution should any of them feel they were up for offering some vulgar remarks. "This is Jon."

There was a series of almost incoherent rumbles of a poor-effort reception. "By gods, they're sloshed," Dany mumbled, more to herself, but Jon exhaled a concealed laugh.

"Jon, this is Missandei, Margaery, and Talisa. My three very best and _very_ drunk friends," Dany waved her arm out as if presenting him a trophy.

Jon lifted his hand and returned with a "hello".

"Hi, Jon," they all spoke meekly over each other, making Dany roll her eyes with a grin.

"Hope we weren't - hic - ooh! Disturbing anything," Margaery slurred, relying on the arms of the other two at her sides to keep on her feet.

"I was just leaving," Jon said, and if he was put off by the scene in front of him, he made no notion of it.

"Aaw," Talisa pouted, preparing to say something more until Margaery swiftly bowed forward and emptied her stomach on the pavement in front of her.

Dany covered her face with her hand, and she felt Jon turn his face into her neck to hide his wheezing laugh. "I'm so sorry," she murmured to him as the other two helped Margaery into the house while passing along their goodbyes to Jon in the process.

He drew his head back, only enough so that he could see her fully now, and she could only peek at him between her fingers. His face was purely enlightened. "If you think that's bad, come to Winterfell and you'll see how tame your friends are compared to mine."

Her brows lifted gently, and she dropped her hand to link them both behind his neck. "Is that an invitation, Jon Snow?"

If he kept looking at her the way that he was, she'd have to consider the thought of evicting her girlfriends for the night so that she might drag him up to her bedroom. Drunk friends be damned. Where she conjured such wanton thoughts after only one kiss was beside her, but the embers of desire swelled low in her belly, regardless.

“Aye,” he rasped, the thumb on her waist drawing lazy circles over the fabric of her dress, "it is." 

She smiled, then lowered her face to kiss him with a little more ardor than earlier, squealing when his arms wrapped under her seat to lift her up off the ground. He broke away for a moment, a lazy smile on his lips before he gave her one more peck and set her down.

Reluctantly, he sighed. “I should probably go. I have a four a.m. train to Winterfell."

Dany tilted her head to read her watch on her left wrist. Then, she turned her eyes back to his. "That's only a little over four hours away."

He smiled warmly at her. “And eight hours of fly training after that. But,” he continued, silencing her looming protest, “it was worth it.”

Feeling her cheeks warm, Dany cuffed her hand behind his neck, fingers threading through some of his silken locks, and pulled him in for a wistful kiss while his arms wrapped fully around her back. “If you’re able to slip away from here for a day or two," he said against her lips, then moved to find her eyes, "there’s to be this...well, I suppose it’s sort of a send-off party. The night before we set out for Essos.”

Dany swallowed the thick knot that had formed in her throat abruptly. Of course, she thought - six weeks until deployment, and Jon would be one of thousands among them. Somehow, the last several hours of play with him helped her forget that prospect. A twisting nausea began to flood her stomach, but she kept it subdued with the comfort of his thumbs caressing idly over her back. With a sure nod, she grinned brightly at him. “Okay. I’ll be there.”

He leaned in and kissed her with a little more heat this time, but it was gone almost as soon as it started. “Alright. I should go. Really, this time.”

“One more thing,” she said, barely a whisper. “You owe me a dance.” He began to grimace and groan, and she giggled softly, placing both of her hands at either side of his face. “Promise.”

He gave her a resigned nod, though even he couldn’t resist a smile. “Promise.”

Drawing in a breath, she considered him. “Six weeks, then.”  
  


“Aye. Six weeks.”

  
  



	2. I'll Be Seeing You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again, lovelies.
> 
> First and foremost: a massive THANK YOU for all of the overwhelming love and reception to this! I was truly blown away, and still am. The comments, kudos, bookmarks, and even those who checked it out, said it wasn't for them, and decided to *not* leave a mean comment telling me so (because those are just toxic and who needs that, anyway?).
> 
> A couple short notes!:  
> 1\. This is going to be more than 2 chapters, because you all are wonderful and I have an idea of where I'll take this.  
> 2\. Probably 10 or less chapters? We'll see - depends on if I can manage to not write such absurdly long chapters!  
> 3\. I know this might spoil it for you guys, but I promise this will be a happy ending (it's in the tags anyway, but ya know...)  
> 4\. Yay moodboard!  
> 5\. This beast of a chapter is nearly 21,000 words so...*sweats* enjoy!!
> 
> Think that's it for now - hope you like this one! Be prepared for lots of fluff and laughs and these dorks getting 100% hornier for one another.

“Hey, lover boy.”

Before Jon could respond to his newest moniker, a hefty hand cuffed him so hard on the back, he lurched forward.

“Fuck’s sake, Tormund, are you ever gentle?” He grumbled, reaching around to massage the sore area. Two weeks into a brutal training regime with a short turnaround wasn’t aiding in his already-tender muscles.

“Ha!” Tormund’s crackled voice boomed, tossing his bag down onto the dewy grass without much care. “You know, the ladies always ask me the same thing, but they _like_ it,” he waggled his bushy, fiery red eyebrows, which only made Jon grimace and shake his head at his friend. “Bet your new lady friend would, too.”

“Fuck off,” Jon sent over his shoulder, tying his mop of curls back into a knot behind his head, then began his morning stretches.

“Come on, little crow,” Tormund endured, as Jon’s empty threats never quite reached his ears. His ‘little crow’, as he so adoringly dubbed Jon, for the black war planes they commanded. It was one nickname among many, and they typically varied in brassness. Of them all, ‘Little Crow’ was certainly the tamest. “Give her a taste of your big fat-”

“Shut it, Giantsbane,” Robb called behind them, approaching with sunglasses fixed to his face to ward off the blaring morning sun.

Tormund roared a laugh - nothing even remotely phased him, which made him perfect for the job as an infantryman. As second lieutenant, he would be leading smaller ranks on the ground. He was the perfect candidate as a leader - and as brutish as he appeared, was far more soft-hearted than most Jon knew. He loved his friends and comrades and would absolutely throw himself straight into the heart of danger if it meant protecting them.

That could be said about all of them, truthfully. It was something inherently rooted when one got this far in the ranks. Even if some personalities clashed, they still had each others’ backs.

“The young wolf,” Tormund cooed, grabbing a tight hold on Robb’s shoulder and giving him a good shake. “I hope you boys are ready for a beating today. General has hand-to-hand planned for us.”

While Jon would be in the air, General Seaworth had them all suited and prepared for potential battle should they ever be grounded. It was double the work, but double the security for their lives. Hand-to-hand combat always wore them down to the bone, since it involved full-body use, and weapons ranging from firearms to close-range weapons such as knives and daggers.

And, he would not let them rest for the day until they could take out a minimum of eight offenders without slipping up. It depleted any remnants of energy by the end of the day, to the point that it was often a struggle to make dinner and shower.

As the three of them walked out to the open field, Jon worked on rounding his arms and shoulders to prevent any tears or cramping later on.

“You know,” Tormund drawled, and Jon already knew where he was taking this, “you’ve barely told us much about this _Dany_ you’ve been all-too-distracted over.”

Jon gave him a look - hadn’t he? She was about the only thing he thought about when his brain wasn’t in a deep state of unconscious sleep.

“That’s ‘cause you know he’s saving those thoughts for his bed,” Theon rang in then, causing them all to groan in unison. Theon was the very one they all, mutually, couldn’t stand, but had to. As vulgar as Tormund’s mouth was, Theon, as a whole, didn’t seem to mature past fourteen years old. It was no wonder why whatever poor girl he had snatched up back in King’s Landing had deserted him in the middle of the city.

“Yeah, yeah, we know her beauty outshines the sun, her voice sings like a summer wind-chime in your grandmother’s garden,” Tormund prattled on, fluttering his eyelashes dramatically and clasping his hands together to fit beneath his coarsely-bearded chin.

A snort erupted from Jon then despite himself. “Not once have I ever indulged in such terrible poetry.”

“It’s a good thing he wasn’t there to do the wooing, then,” Robb agreed, working on stretching his legs.

“Come on, give us more,” Tormund pleaded, thumping Theon over the head when he went to make an overindulgent remark.

So he did, for the next ten minutes until General Seaworth and the rest of their crew had arrived. 

He was utterly over the moon for the new woman in his life. What began as a desperate effort to not be turned away from his dream _just_ as he had everything he ever wanted within his grasp, turned into unexpectedly being drawn into her exquisite beauty and brazen wit. Genuinely, his gesture for dinner-turned-drinks _was_ a meager attempt at thanking her for what she did for him, but the rest followed organically.

It was almost impossible to keep his eyes off of her the entirety of that night, wanting to memorize every little tweak and expression of her perfect features. If he hadn't anything to distract himself with at the Prancing Pony Inn, he probably would have had to be escorted out of the diner for some sort of inappropriate gazing. It was just his luck that her personality matched her jarring beauty.

He was sick with longing for her, more and more after every telephone conversation.

Right before Jon had left her grip, she had caught him in time to give him her telephone number - having to draw it carefully with a rouge lipstick on his forearm. Naturally, when he had returned to Winterfell the following day, his head in the clouds, his friends had noticed nearly the moment he stepped foot on the base, and he didn’t live it down all day, nor the days following. He had gone straight from the train to training, and hadn’t the time to run home to scribble her number down and wash it from his arm, and keeping it from smudging after his skin became lacquered in sweat proved an interesting feat. General Seaworth had been eyeing him all of that first day, likely wondering why in the seven hells Jon was so keen on keeping his arm wrapped up in a gauze bandage. 

Tormund, the great brute, had incessant questions, often punctuated by hammering his great big hand over Jon's back or elbowing him less-than-softly in his ribs. Jon only fed him the bare minimum; partly because it had only been one date, but also because he didn't want to give the man any more incentive to bombard Dany when she came to Winterfell.

Jon called her nearly every evening, even after he was well worn and fatigued by the day’s events. He found time, _made_ time to hear her voice every night. Between ten and twelve hour days, it was the perfect salve for his mind and aching muscles.

Including his heart, because he was almost certain he had fallen hard and swift for her, as expeditious and unforgiving as an anchor thrown into the sea.

At a time like this, love was dangerous. It could be cruel, on the brink of a war, but it was uncontrollable, like a derailed train. One in which he did not wish to halt, nor try to, even when it might benefit both of them to deter potential heartbreak. Jon's life would no longer be promised the moment he left the shores of White Harbor.

General Davos Seaworth, who was in charge and command of Jon’s training by air and field, ran them into the ground day in and day out to give them a taste of what the real world would come to offer across the Narrow Sea. Most nights, Jon's voice was thick with exhaustion, and sometimes he and Dany would talk until he fell asleep, but he was never any less enthused to speak with her. And, he got the feeling that she reciprocated the same. Her girlfriends sometimes gave her grief for hogging the phone, or pushed her to give them the details about this " _mysterious_ Jon Snow" (per their background taunts) that had the phone glued to her ear for hours every night. 

They shared more about their respective lives. She had gently asked about his mother, to which he explained to her that Lyanna Stark had died during childbirth, and his father had left her when he had found out she fell pregnant with him. It was a fleeting summer love never meant to last beyond just that. 

His adoptive uncle, Ned Stark, was the only parental figure in his life, whom he had grown very close to, but Ned had succumbed to fever when Jon was fourteen. Ned’s wife, Catelyn, took their remaining children for herself, having never cared for Jon since he was not one of her own, and abandoned him in the night some months after Ned’s death.

When Dany asked where he went, Jon explained that his cousin, Robb, who was more a brother to him, came to retrieve him the following morning, and for four years, stowed him away between his own bedroom and the unused barn on their property. Right under Cat’s nose, as well as her daughters, and she never found out. On Jon’s eighteenth nameday, he enlisted for the military, but given his surname, was rejected time and time again. He tried all different methods and branches to no avail for several years, picking up odd jobs on the side to pay the bills while he found a place of his own, and put food in his belly. Robb had gone away to school for a time, but was always in contact, expressing constantly how he wished he could duck out of Dorne to assist him at least financially. Robb’s time there didn’t last too much longer, anyhow, and he had come home to enlist as well.

Jon seemed to hit dead end after dead end. That was, until he’d gotten into contact with Samwell Tarly - one of his only great friends as a teenager, who had scrubbed up a job as an Economic Research Adviser at the Citadel in Oldtown, and the only one who sympathized with his misfortune. Sam had stumbled upon Jon’s file - as reluctant as he was to explain to Jon that there was an _actual_ cabinet room reserved just for illegitimate children - and after confirming that it was indeed _the_ Jon Snow, took a chance by dialing the phone number printed on his documentation.

How Sam had managed to fulfill Jon’s precarious request at forging him a fabricated birth certificate without anyone batting an eye was beyond even Jon’s comprehension, but here they were. The rest was history.

He could hear it in Dany's voice, how it broke her heart into pieces, knowing how mistreated he was upon the basis of uncontrollable circumstances. As much as he cherished her anguish over _him_ \- and he did, more than words could ever permit, because that was never in the cards for him, having someone nurture him so - he also didn't want pity, or to be fawned over for his misfortunes. He just wanted to lead as normal a life as he could, and forget the rest. After all, his life could have been much worse, truthfully, he realized the older and wiser he became. And he felt content now, so looking back and feeling sorry for himself would only set him back. Those were times of his life he would much rather forget.

Dany’s laugh rang like a beautiful chime in his ears, Tormund wasn’t wrong about that. And, it was easy to bring that out of her whenever possible. He enjoyed teasing her until he would have her rolling in a fit of giggles, complaining that her stomach muscles often ached right after, to which her friends in the background were keen on poking their heads in her bedroom just to give her flack over her flirtatious behavior.

But he wanted to learn more about _her._ And that he did. He came to know how her mother had died before Dany could have formed any real memory of her, from an illness nobody was certain of, though it was thought to have been some type of blood infection. Her father was neglectful, and her brother Rhaegar, about fifteen years older than her, substituted as a father figure for her until his untimely death at the Trident. Her father died nine months later.

She put herself through school, though much of it was accelerated given the anticipation of war. Given that, she had to learn fast; had to grow up even faster. They needed all the nurses and doctors they could get, and hospitals were expected to be overrun. It was to be all hands on deck.

"What made you decide to do it? To sign your name on that line," he had asked her a couple weeks into their nightly conversations. He understood what her job meant to her - had a much better grasp on that now - that she felt this was what she was meant to do, just as Jon did with earning his wings. They both shared the same affinity for helping the helpless, those less well off than they came to be, because they both lived that life.

"Well, two reasons," she had begun, a humorous lilt to her voice, making him smile into the receiver. "I take that back. Three reasons. First, I find the whole being rejected for anything because of one's social status and birthright to be utter bullshit _and_ completely outdated," she said, making him hum a laugh. "Second, I probably would have killed a man if I was denied something I love doing, and having that be the reason for it."

Jon snorted at that, and she playfully scolded him, reminding him that she _really_ could do such a thing. She was a woman who knew her own mind, that much was certain, and she was deadly with a needle...but otherwise, well, he just agreed that she was likely right, to which she had giggled on the other line. "And third," she had continued, clearing her throat ceremoniously, "you were entirely too cute. You didn't have to do much convincing, really," she had sighed dramatically, and he found himself wondering how in the hells he had gotten so damned lucky to have stumbled across someone like her. Who was genuinely interested in _him_ , who rejected social norms that most people would scorn her for. And, of course, the risk she took to inevitably fulfill the only thing he ever wanted, somehow deciding that putting it all on the line for a stranger who very well could have been an asshole and gotten her fired for it.

She was impossibly intelligent and witty and, gods: she was the whole package.

Jon had a couple of previous relationships that had all gone awry. There was Ygritte, whose personality was far too much for him to handle. Overly controlling and overwhelmingly emotionally abusive. She began to wear him down to the point where he was losing his sense of self, and the breakup had been ugly, as she felt she was losing control by not being able to manipulate him as she wanted.

Then there was Val, who was nice enough, but they were too different, both wanting entirely different things out of life. They split up relatively amicably, despite how frequently they argued, and she moved away somewhere south of the Reach.

Jon had tried a couple of casual, non-committal affairs, but it just wasn't his style. It left him feeling far worse and guilt-ridden afterwards, rather than fulfilled and satiated.

He had just felt as though he was on a straight path to what he desired most, assuming he would achieve it, with no distractions or obstacles that would set him astray. Until he met Daenerys, whose unforseen presence in his life had struck hard and fast, and very quickly she became his favorite distraction. One he never realized he needed, or wanted, even. Relationships had felt very much like one of those things that was constantly something just out of his reach. Until now.

“Wait, can I add a fourth reason?” She had pondered, to which he chuckled with, “go on, then.”

It took her a moment to get over building laughter. “Your ass. It is scientifically, indubitably, perfect. And I took a mathematics course, Jon Snow, so my measurements are most certainly correct.”

That drew a breathy laugh out of him, and he went on to tell her how ridiculous she was, and then his ears were blessed with the sound of her ceaseless laughter once more. “I thought I took you for a lady, but I guessed wrong,” he had returned in jest.

He didn’t know if one could fall in love so instantaneously - he thought he had felt that way for Ygritte, early in their relationship, anyway - but otherwise, he didn’t know a thing about it. All he did know was that he _never_ in his life had his heart swell with adoration for someone as much as it did for Dany. He had never felt so heartsick when he wasn’t attached to his phone, the very one in which he had to manipulate the damned cord so that it would reach his bed without disconnecting it entirely from the wall. He thought of her always, even when he was being drilled to what felt would be his wits end on the field, because that became his driving force to get through the day - that he would hear her voice at the end of it, no matter how terribly fatigue tried to consume him.

Never had he coveted over seeing someone’s face more than he did for hers, more especially at the three-week mark, where it felt both an eternity and a few short weeks away that she would join him at his home. All he wanted to do was be with her, in the physical sense, so that he could watch her face light up in the way that it did whenever she found something funny or perplexing. How she had the ability to remind him how to laugh and smile. 

It wouldn’t hurt if he could kiss her again, either.

“Mind your manners, lieutenant,” she had teased. “I am most certainly a lady, but I know a piece of art when I see one. I do feel a little bit guilty for defiling it...but only a little.”

Jon had to bite his tongue to avoid remarking a lewd comment, something akin to ways that she could make it better. They had their fair share of flirtatious- exchanges, some of them teetering on flat out brow-raising, but it was merely in a beat-around-the-bush sort of way.

He asked about her friends, the ones she shared her flat with. Margaery had been the one to display her dinner before them the night he met Dany, of course. She was vivacious, proud, and fearless, but had a kind heart. Talisa was a bit more shy, soft-spoken, and slightly meek, though her experience as a military nurse was hastily shifting that. And then there was Missandei - Dany’s best, lifelong friend, whom she had met during her young schooling days, and both of whom had latched onto one another once it was discovered they both would be leaving Essos for a better quality of life. She was Dany’s confidante, cheerleader, and the one who pulled Dany away from work when she was getting well over her head, because she was a fierce go-getter that sometimes never knew when to stop.

Jon balked when she tried to get him to dish on _his_ friends, assuring her that she would get an earful of them when she came to Winterfell. And, that she might wish she never knew them at all. They were passionately loyal people, and Jon had the utmost pleasure being a part of such a tight-knit team, but they could be quite boisterous and overwhelming to those who were unfamiliar with them. More especially the northerners, as they were a bit raw around the edges. The only person he needn’t worry over was Robb, but Jon could only imagine what the interaction would come to be like between her and Tormund - likely, he would wrap her in a bone-crushing hug, and then prattle on about the size of Jon’s cock (which, he alternated between spreading rumors that he had a 'microscopic tiny pecker', or a 'cock so magnificent that it was sculpted by the gods themselves'. Over time Jon had grown numbed to the mountain man's bluntness and unpredictability). 

He wasn’t entirely confident there was a meaningful way in which he could warn her about him, or the lot of them, so he thought he would risk just letting her jump in head-first.

If nothing else, it would provide endless entertainment. It would be like walking into a lion’s den, having a woman of her stature in beauty and brains mingle among them, among hundreds of horny men about to set off to war. She could handle her own, though; he didn’t doubt that for a second. But, luckily, there would be plenty of other women to buffer their needs, so Jon needn’t worry too much.

A few days before Dany was due to arrive, his schedule was going to shift for those next three days, wherein he would be out at White Harbor practicing take-offs off a carrier ship, and he wouldn’t have access to his phone as they were required to sleep on base for a couple nights.

The evening prior, after an intense and brutal day's work, Jon began to pack up his small duffel of belongings before he would head back to his house further north.

"Hey, mister romantic," Grey called, stepping into the shared space they had all been bunked in. Jon folded a few shirts and half turned to acknowledge his friend, who was just as sweaty and worn to the bone as he was. "Is your lady still coming in tomorrow?"

Without pause, Jon smiled, zipping up his bag. "Aye. Why?"

Grey shrugged and sat heavily on his bunk, wiping his face with a towel. "Still don't know what she sees in you," he joked, making a show of just how terribly funny he thought he was with his overdramatic laugh. Jon spluttered and tossed his rolled up, dirty sweaty sock straight in his face. "Hey! I was only making a general observation. Must be that pout she finds so irresistible," he said, screwing up his face to mimic Jon's as best he could.

Jon chuckled anyway; he was used to getting the piss taken out of him, and felt that he took it fairly well, but nothing could sour his mood now. "Fuck off," he muttered weakly over his shoulder, slinging his bag over his shoulder which was still burning in throbs.

"Can't wait to meet her," Grey noted, pushing to his feet and clapping Jon on the back with an unneeded force, which everyone felt they needed to do as a gesture of affection now that he was constantly sore. "She have any friends?"

"She does, actually. I told her to bring them if she can."

A sparkle gleamed in Grey's eyes at his words. "Excellent. I take it you changed your mind about the party then?"

Before, Jon hadn't any intention on going to the send-off party. He hadn't any interest in being preyed on by hoards of randy women (to which his friends and Robb incessantly harassed him over), and the entire thing felt a bit rubbish to him. He wondered how many of the guests there wouldn't truly care what happened to the lot of them after their drinks left their systems and they were bedded and sated. 

Now, however, he had reason to go, to show Dany off to Robb and his closest friends and let her experience something she'd never done before. And anyway, he didn't plan for them to stay long. He had something else in mind that he wanted to share with her, something more personal, if he could convince her to do so, anyway.

With a nod, Jon dropped his eyes to his watch. It was nearing eight o'clock, and his cab would arrive in a few short minutes to bring him home. He looked back at Grey. "I better go. See you tomorrow, then?"

"You bet," Grey brought Jon in for a quick side-hug.

  
  


Thirty minutes later, Jon was jamming his key into the lock of his front door, greeted with a pining howl at the other side and nails scratching at the oak. The moment Jon cracked open the door, the white snout of Ghost wriggled its way through and pushed his body forward until the door smacked the opposing wall, his tail wagging so frantic his entire body was dancing. 

Grinning, Jon switched on the light, dropped his bag unceremoniously to the floor, and knelt down to massage his fingers into the thick of Ghost’s neck. The beast whined and circled Jon like a shark, his mouth stretched wide and tongue splayed lazily off to its side. “I missed you too, boy. S’pose this is a good sign that Grenn took good care of you, huh?”

At Jon’s voice, Ghost barked and hitched his massive paws up onto Jon’s shoulders, promptly sending his arse to the floor with a grunt.

After several minutes of pets and scratches and words of love, Jon did a quick sweep of his small space and was pleasantly surprised to find that Grenn had left it in relatively tidy fashion. When they had served together at Castle Black, Grenn had been an absolute slob in their tiny shared space. It was a nightmare when the man would leave out food for days at a time and the entire place reeked of putrid curdled mess.

Jon didn’t live lavishly, but it was home. It was the first major purchase he had ever made, with his own money, and when it came down to it...it was more _Ghost’s_ place than his own. Two acres of land had him signing his name on the contract so hastily, he barely acknowledged the rest of the fine print.

Still, it had worked out perfectly. He was distanced enough away from the loud city life, yet close enough to get there within a half hour’s ride for his necessary drop-ins. It was a quaint little two-story stone cottage, with most rooms adorned with wide, maple floors and stacked stone walls and exposed wooden beams along the a-line, vaulted ceilings. His favorite room, however, was the one with the garden view whose walls were nothing but windows, offering nearly a full view of the sprawling greenery and wooded land at the rear of the house. Ghost had the run of the place, happily chasing after the squirrels caught napping. There was a reason the pup got the name he did. Sometimes, out of a gesture of love, Ghost would bring his offerings to Jon’s feet much to his own displeasure.

Jon looked at the clock once more, nearing closer to nine. He wondered if Dany would be awake at this hour given how early she would be boarding her train in the morning, and he didn’t want to risk waking her.

Instead, he made the noble decision to get some decent rest while he still had the freedom to do so.

* * *

✈️👗💄🐺

* * *

The following morning, Ghost had nipped at Jon’s coat, as if anticipating what was to come in a couple of days and that he would not return. But he reassured the pup, tossing him a leftover turkey leg before he had gone off to the train station.

He arrived thirty minutes prior to Dany’s scheduled arrival, wanting to be sure he would beat the traffic and hoards of people so that she wasn’t left stranded in a place she didn’t know. He found an empty iron bench and took a spot there, his stomach stirring a riot at the impending announcement of her train number. While he waited, his eyes scanned the platform as it flooded with more and more travelers. Some in suits, some more casual, some even donning military uniforms.

It smelled of coal and hot dogs, a putrid smell for so early in the morning, but the food cart begun serving all sorts of offerings beginning at the first train of the day. Jon shoved his hands deeper into his tweed jacket, pulling it a little more snug against him, then pushed to his feet once the familiar sound of an incoming train began to trudge his way.

Already, he was grinning like an idiot, wider still when the face of the steel grey train came into view amidst the parting morning fog and rolling steam. As it slowed before him, his eyes tried to keep up with the cart numbers, seeking number six. The platform crowded further, travelers desperate not to be left behind else having to wait another two hours before the next route.

Dany’s stopped a ways down, far enough that he had to weave his way in-between a thicket of passengers exiting and others boarding. The moment a head of silver-blond hair caught his eyes, he felt his heart quicken up to the hollow of his throat, like some green boy. For a moment he lost her in the crowd, her petite stature doing her no favors in that regard, but the crowd began to thin out after a moment.

Finally, once the last person between them crossed, her wide curious eyes spanned his left side straight to him, her entire face lighting up with an ear-to-ear grin. He couldn’t help but mirror her delight, picking up his pace while she dropped her bags haphazardly onto the ground for her friends to worry over while she dashed into a sprint.

He chuckled, half aware of the possibility that she could very well sprain an ankle in the heels she wore, outstretching his arms as she flung herself into them, her legs securing around his waist and planting a desperate kiss straight to his mouth. His one arm kept her up beneath her seat, the other finding her neck and keeping her attached to him for as long as would be deemed appropriate. Her hands held either side of his face firmly, as if he might lose his head at any moment, which felt entirely possible right now.

Gods, she was still so warm, despite the chill. As if she had absorbed the heat of the capital into her very skin, causing his own to pimple with gooseflesh.

Breathless and chest heaving, she broke away and her glossy eyes searched his face desperately, seemingly trying to remember him as he was six weeks past. “It’s nice to see you again, lieutenant,” she gasped, her radiant smile contesting against her weak formal greeting, and her teeth just beginning to chatter.

Speechless, he brought her face down so that he could kiss her more tenderly, to warm her, momentarily forgetting that they shared other company until someone cleared their throat behind Dany. This was beginning to feel like a pattern, truly, as he lowered Dany gently to her feet. Only then did he observe that the skin of her ankles were exposed, confirming that she still wore a dress below the heavy wool, ruby coat.

Jon had to strain his eyes to focus on the presence of her friends, as she reintroduced them once more, but it was almost impossible when she kept beaming at him the way that she was out of his peripheral. “Aye, it would be hard to remember that performance,” he ribbed in Margaery’s direction, who seemed completely nonplussed with the toss of her hair.

“That was hardly my worst, _lieutenant_ ,” Margaery mimicked teasingly, sending a wink in Dany’s direction. “Just wait until tonight. You might be the one needing to carry me back to the hotel.”

He felt as a warm palm lowered to fit into his, giving it a gentle squeeze. Jon leaned into Dany, wishing that it could be socially acceptable to send her very pleasant friends off now so that he could relish the few hours he would have with her alone.

* * *

✈️👗💄🐺

* * *

That wish hadn’t been too farfetched, however. After some general directions of where particular landmarks were, the rest of the ladies took a cab to their hotel while he and Dany and her ridiculously heavy luggage made their way back to his home.

Their driver kept shooting them suspicious glimpses, as if his old withered mind expected the both of them to strip off and fuck in his backseat, but they were very, very tame, as much as he was keen on kissing her breathless again. Either way, Jon had sandwiched himself between her bag and trunk and herself, while she caught him up with the assortment of patients she had seen over the past few days. The way in which she so casually described a rotting toe to him had him wishing he _had_ decided to fully make out with her to avoid the grotesque details, had they not been in the presence of a stranger.

“Don’t look so morose, Jon Snow,” she muttered beside him, nothing but pure pleasure in her tone with how green in the face he probably looked, “if you intend to have me around for a while, I’m going to desensitize you to every ripe disease that’s out there. Shall we begin with the Bloody Flux?”

Groaning, he rolled his head back onto the seat and pressed his eyes closed with a shake of his head. “Only if you want me to have this car turned around back to the station.”

She barked a joyous laugh, her free hand swinging around to smack his chest, drawing a lazy grin of achievement from him. “You ought to know the signs, at least, since i's prevalent in Essos,” she noted.

“I have a better idea,” he suggested, lifting his head to look at her now, finding himself gaping a moment longer than admissible, “how about you don’t, and I find out if and when I get it?”

Dany’s thick groomed brows lifted as she looked up at him with resilience. “Or,” she poked his chest to enunciate her point, “it would be best to not tarnish your perfect gluteus maximus by shitting blood,” she had lowered her voice toward the end, but it didn’t stop their driver for feigning an obnoxious cough.

It didn’t phase her, though, her expression challenging as Jon grimaced. “You already tarnished it, remember? And anyway, isn’t that what the vaccine is for?”

“Yes, you silly man, but you can still catch a milder version of it,” she replied, taking their linked hands and lifting his arm so that it draped around her shoulders, sidling up to his side. He kissed the top of her head, inhaling the scent lingering in her velvet brushed hair, something between lemon, fresh air, and a tinge of King’s Landing. “And I don’t expect any version would be very conducive when navigating a flying object, thousands of feet in the air.”

Jon hummed a passive sound, fighting the urge to shut his eyes in contentedness. “You’re right. Guess I better commission General Seaworth for a trap door under my seat. A sure way to get the slavers to surrender.”

Dany wheezed a lengthy laugh, tears welling up in her eyes in the way that he adored most. He went against his own rules and did close his eyes, holding her closer while she tucked her head further into his neck. “I missed you, Jon,” she whispered once she caught her breath again.

“Aye,” he conceded happily, “you’ve no idea, Dany.”

* * *

✈️👗💄🐺

* * *

It wasn’t a lengthy ride between the station and Jon’s cottage, per say, but he was pretty certain it was the longest ride of their driver’s life, between their incessant giggles and Dany’s persistence in pushing medical knowledge on him while he pretended to be completely disgusted by her. He made sure to throw the man an extra bill for his suffering, then hitched Dany’s belongings over his arms while she held the door open for him.

“This is...wow,” she breathed, and it took him a moment to realize she was regarding the sights around her. While he loved his home, sometimes it was easy to take it for granted, of its serene beauty when the days tended to run together.

“You like it?” He asked timidly, walking beside her down the stony path that led to the small, wooden gate. It was a decorative feature, mostly, as it enclosed a portion of the anterior.

“I adore it,” she said softly, and then his eyes landed on some of the overgrown foliage creeping over the fence. It had been a long while since he had the time or energy to keep the wild things tidy. It was a nice touch of greenery, vines creeping and reaching the gutters of the face of the stone face, though the flowers had long died away from neglect. When he went to explain all of this to Dany, she was quick to silence him, reassuring him with, “It’s delightful.”

When he opened the gate and she stepped through it, he could only watch her in wonder, an obscene time to find himself astonished at how she was his. It made no matter, because his throbbing muscles against the strain of her baggage (which he had accused her of carrying nothing but bricks and stones) had him moving again.

While Jon fished for his keys after setting everything else down, Dany took to wandering the enclosed square, manipulating a few leafy branches from the wooden bench and tucking them back into place, picking at some of the browned and long-dead bits, the striking red of her coat illuminating the greyness of the day. Her hair had been done partially up with some complicated-looking braids, but the thick tendrils left loose and waved down contrasted vividly against her back. If it had been the season to snow, rather than their summer, he might have thought her a painting.

Desperate nails scratching at the other side of the door and a high-pitched whistle broke him from his trance as Dany was soon behind him, hauling up one bag by herself.

“Ghost,” Jon warned just when he cracked open the door, a wet shiny nose trying to push against Jon’s force to keep the door in place. “Be _nice_ , boy.”

When he half turned to see Dany, she was already grinning with anticipation. “You’re torturing both of us, Jon, don’t be cruel.”

Jon snickered, wondering just how much she might regret her words when he pushed the door open only for a flash of hairy white to dash between his legs and bowled Dany over down onto her rear.

“ _Ghost_ ,” Jon chided, but neither of them heard him over Dany’s squeals of pleasure as Ghost tried to lap at whatever sliver of face he could find between her hands. Jon couldn’t help but to smile, even though Dany’s coat was sure to be crusted over with twigs and leaves and amassed with dog hair. “Alright, you great beast, give her room to breathe,” he said while reaching down to pull him back a bit by his chest so that Dany could sit up.

Her face was flushed, either by the morning chill or Ghost’s flurry of kisses, and Jon easily pulled her back up to her feet. “Well, hello, Ghost. Did you learn how to make bad first impressions just like your papa?” 

“ _Bad_ first impressions?” Jon scoffed while she sunk her fingers into Ghost’s neck while he pink tongue flapped at the air pathetically. One would think he wasn’t bathed in attention nearly around the clock. When Jon wasn’t here, Grenn was kind enough to fill that time. He was basically an extension to the house, at this point.

Dany gave him eyes full of innocence, and a dash of bewilderment. “Coercing your strange friend to hit on me, and then giving me those puppy eyes to lie on a document sealed by the Citadel?”

He really tried not to chuckle, but she was a sight when she was confounded, even if it wasn’t so sincerely. He crossed the space between them after situating her belongings inside the hallway. “You have a point on the latter, but,” he reached forward and pulled her around the waist to him, making her breathe a small gasp by his sudden motion, “I specifically told Theon to not even look at you.”

Dany nibbled at her lip, their faces a mere couple of inches apart now. “Impossible, given the nature of the job.”

Something akin to a growl sounded from his chest against her resilient sarcasm, taking her face in his hands and puckering her lips with his palms to kiss her over and over until she was, literally, falling into a heap of giggles, as he then swooped one arm beneath the crooks of her descending knees to bring her within the confines of the warmer house. Once Ghost was inside, Jon kicked the door shut behind him, then lowered Dany back to her feet.

Ghost continued to circle them until he seemed appeased enough to go lay down in the family room. Then, Dany encircled her arm around Jon’s. “Alright, lieutenant. The grand tour, then.”

She playfully sneered at him when he snorted, leading her down the short hall. “There’s nothing grand about it, believe me. We’re a little more subdued here in the North.”

Dany pinched the skin of his bicep. “I forgot that you haven’t seen our flat. It’s…,” she looked around, both seeming to appreciate the space while also calculating something, “probably the size of your kitchen and family room. Maybe a half bath in there somewhere. Then you add four women, and…,” she exhaled a breath with a singular shake of her head.

“Four women and one bathroom is enough to convince me that I made the right choice by staying right here,” he remarked with a sly smirk.

“As much as I would like to tell you how wrong you are, I’d rather say you’ve underestimated the torment that is,” Dany smiled, walking alongside him around the small square, middle island counter of the kitchen while she observed the decorative shelving littered with tea cups and mugs a-plenty, the various knick-knacks that he had picked up all along the way as he traveled here and there for work, potential other jobs, and home. She fell silent for a time, and his curiosity grew exponentially: this had to feel a world away from the city, now that he was seeing it through her eyes. Everything about it was much more rustic and non-glamorous - even if that was how Jon preferred it, that was just the way of most of the North, and Winterfell as a whole.

“It’s so quiet here. I almost forgot what that’s like, to not have car horns and bar fights constantly right outside your window…,” she trailed off, stopping at the grey stone mantle of the hearth to digest the couple of framed pictures displayed there, and small wood carvings of wolves and trees and tiny airplane figurines.

"That seals it for me, then. That anything south of the Riverlands would be the bane of my existence. Here," he stepped behind her when she began to unbutton her coat and slipped his hands beneath the collar to help her shrug out of it. It took all of his will power to not lean down and kiss the soft, creamy exposure of her neck left after the loosened strands of hair dropped over her shoulder. He distracted himself by briefly leaving the room to hang her coat - which was deceivingly heavy - on an iron hook near the front door. When he returned, his eyes made a fleeting sweep over the cotton, blush pink dress she wore, with quarter sleeves capped by lace cuffs at her elbows. She was such a vision that it took him a moment to notice she had plucked one of the photo frames from the mantle, head cocked just so as he approached over her shoulder.

"That's mum," Jon nodded toward a jovial and young, dark-haired Lyanna Stark of fifteen, a crown of blue winter roses pinned into her hair. She stood atop a mountain of snow that she and her brothers had molded into what was meant to resemble their ancestral home in Winterfell, hands fixed at her hips with her brow set defiantly but a proud wide grin painting her face.

"She's beautiful," Dany muttered, "and I can certainly see the resemblance," she lifted her head to look up at him, and he was struck by how the jagged rays of sunlight fighting for entry through the window panes pierced her irises, embellishing the indigo of her eyes like gems.

"You're beautiful," he contended, barely above a whisper, and she tipped her head back and pulled his down to kiss her gingerly.

He shifted from behind her, moving to face her fully whilst never breaking contact, blindly taking the photo frame from her hand and setting it back somewhere on the mantle. The moment his hands smoothed over her hips, the silk flat of her tongue swept over his lips, and when he felt her imploring his mouth, it shot a jolt of blood straight south. He changed angles for better access, grasping for any mental willpower not to groan when her fingers toyed with his hair and her thigh pressed against his growing erection.

"What are you thinking about, Jon Snow?" She whispered harshly against his lips, the sultriness of it not doing anything to impede his hardening cock. If anything, it roused further.

He opened his eyes to peer down at her, searching for any possibility that she might be put off, and finding none. "At the moment? Anything but what you're trying to do to me."

A sly grin widened her smile, and when he went to tilt his hips back so that her leg was no longer taunting against him, she clamped her teeth down onto her lip and only followed him, pressing every inch of herself against him while she attacked his mouth with far less restraint. This time, a moan rumbled from his throat, making backward steps as she paraded him toward the small loveseat across the room.

Aside from a couple clumsy stumbles, he was impressed that she stuck the landing despite having only just become barely familiar with the layout of the house. He fell heavily, and before his lustful, hazy mind could make sense of what was happening, she was straddling his lap.

They finally broke away for a breather, striking blue-violet eyes on charcoal grey, and Jon's groin straining almost painfully against the fabric of his trousers. It was moments like this where he mentally cursed himself for preferring slimmer fits. He supposed that wasn't a common thought when purchasing clothes, however.

"What?" He husked at her widening smile, and she answered by swiping her thumb over his lips and the side of his mouth.

"I must say," she began, a few stray hairs having escaped her tidy braids to frame her cheeks, "coral looks very nice on you."

Some strange strangled noise that was meant to be a laugh emerged from his mouth; he was fairly certain at some point his mind had blacked out when she had taken control of the situation and plundered his mouth like they'd done it countless times before. "I'm sure I look a state," she murmured, seeming content with clearing away the smear of lipstick stains from him and resting said hand on his shoulder.

Jon lifted his chin to plant one firm, quick kiss to her plumped lips. "Aye. A delicious state."

Her lips quivered to fight a smile as she sat back to examine him. "Jon Snow. That pretty mouth is far more filthy than I thought."

A slow, mischievous smile spread across his lips then, but unfortunately, there wouldn't be sufficient time for _that_. They had an hour left, at most, before they would need to make headway for Winter Town. "Let me show you the rest," he quirked his head upward toward the stairs.

She slipped free of him, and the abandoned warmth of her left him wanting, but he needed to keep his head on straight for the time being.

"Careful; can't tell you how many times I've nearly split my head open down these," he cautioned as they ascended the wooden winding steps, which tapered to one side on each stair.

"It's a good thing I know how to handle trauma cases then," she said, accepting his offered hand.

Once they got to the top, a hallway to their left led them down to the remaining rooms. It wasn't until they reached his bedroom that he then realized...he only had one bedroom. He put a rapid halt to his wandering, devious mind. There was always the option of the small couch downstairs that he could claim. Would she want to share a bed with him? While he got the feeling it wouldn't pose any issues, he could still be a gentleman, even if his traitorous, mind-of-its-own organ between his legs tried to deem otherwise.

"I love it here," she swooned, and he found it an odd but welcoming sight having her in the intimate space of the home that had solely been his for so long. "It feels very... _you_ ," she lifted a finger and poked his nose.

As much as he wanted to argue, she wasn't wrong. He had put a lot of work into the place and tried to make it as personal as possible while preserving the charm and character of the cottage itself. That, and the seclusion from the city life. It was very much 'him'. But he swiftly discovered that the idea of making it 'them' sounded exorbitantly more pleasing. It was senseless to have dreams at this point, however, until he was promised to come out of the other side of the war.

"You okay?" She inquired tenderly, smoothing her hand over one side of his face.

"Aye, sorry," his voice cracked, meeting her gaze with what he hoped was a reassuring smile, then pressed a kiss at the center of her wrinkled brow. "We should probably get ready and leave soon."

"Mm," her eyes closed against his embrace, then nodded. " _Aye_."

* * *

✈️👗💄🐺

* * *

Jon had been kidding himself if he expected that his friends would behave once they met Dany - not especially with her looking like _that._ Hells, even he was going to have difficulty pretending she wasn't the only person in the room once they actually got to the place, and that was even before the fact that she looked divine in the red dress she had chosen.

It had shoulder cap sleeves, with a square bust and a delicate 'v' that dipped between her breasts, but modest enough that it revealed mostly nothing. It cinched to her every curve until it flared at the waist down below a thick matching buckle, ending at her lower calves. Her hair had been put up into some delicate and intricate fashion, a red silk scarf tied in. A light layer of a pretty shade of pink lipstick and lashes feathered with black mascara.

He wasn't sure he'd get her through the door without men wanting to pounce on her.

He wasn’t so sure _he_ would get through his own front door without wanting to pounce on her himself.

When she came into view at the bottom of the stairs, he had been standing before a mirror fiddling with the cuffs of his black button-down when she filled the view behind him. His lungs completely failed him, his eyes slow to absorb all of her from her stilettos to the top of her head. His heart hammered arduously against his chest, and only strengthened when she afforded him a radiant smile and closed the space between them.

"Will I do, lieutenant?" She asked softly, wrapping a warm hand around his bicep and rotating his stunned body to face her.

He drew in an unsteady breath, while she took over his task of folding back his sleeve cuffs and buttoning them secure. He brought up his other hand and lightly grazed the back of his fingers over the apple of her cheek. "You'll more than do, Dany," he rustled.

She captured his raised hand, but rather than work at the sleeve right away, she pressed his hand more firmly against her cheek, then turned to lay a kiss on his palm. He paused, swallowing hard, studying her. Something seemed...off.

"Dany," he called softly, and finally she brought her eyes to his. "Are you alright?"

She gave him a silent nod, and then she wrapped both of her arms around his middle and pressed her face against his chest. He sighed against her warmth, enveloping his arms around her shoulders and giving her some time to recover from whatever it was that seemed to be bothering her. 

He had a feeling that he knew; while this party was disguised by all of the grandeur, it was far more melancholy than that. In a little over twenty-four hours time, he would be boarding a ship from southern White Harbor to the northern border of their base in Braavos. Most of the men at the event would be, and it was their final hours of leading some semblance of normalcy.

“We don’t have to go, you know,” he whispered, lips pressed into her hair. 

“You promised me a dance, Jon Snow,” she replied, the playful lilt returning to her voice as she pulled her face away to see him.

He breathed a laugh through his nose with a nod. “That I did. Ready?”

Dany reached for her coat slung over the banister, then returned to him and laced their hands together. “Ready.”

* * *

✈️👗💄🐺

* * *

Most of the car ride was spent in silence, but a tranquil one as Dany admired the raw beauty of the North. Distant snow-capped mountains bordered the mainlands, and there were forests unending. At one point, the cab stopped to let a prowling pack of wolves cross the road, and she was so astounded that she had to roll down the window to make her eyes believe what she was seeing.

“The only wildlife we have in the capital are seagulls who will divebomb your head when you have food,” she’d grumbled, suddenly taking on Jon’s brooding persona.

It was still late afternoon when they had arrived, which fell almost perfectly in line with the surprise he had for her a bit later. Already, the downtown grounds were heavy with people traffic, and Jon kept her close as they weaved in and out of clusters of other groups. Winter Town was a quirky, older wing of Winterfell where most of their local provisions could be purchased. It’s cobblestone pathways were lined parallel with shops of every variety, every third sandwiching a tavern and each of them boasting to have the ‘number one choice ale of the North’.

Since the clouds gave way to clearer skies earlier, it had warmed considerably, though to Dany it would likely still feel more like a southern autumn. He was glad he went without a suit jacket, else he would already be sweating through the thin layer he did wear.

The raucousness of the interior of the Smoking Hog, their venue, was practically vibrating against the heavy wooden door. He looked over his shoulder at Dany, mirroring her smile with a squeeze of her hand as they pushed in.

It was blazing hot with body heat, loud to the point of ear-buzzing, and several different smells wafted up his nose all at once, making his stomach thrum violently. He cursed his less-than-average height, trying to see above the taller heads for any sign of familiar faces. Many of them he did recognize, giving them pleasant nods, and he wasn’t ignorant enough to catch the way in which their eyes strayed to the woman who was attached to his arm.

At the same second that he finally spotted the wild, red hair of Tormund, an eruption greeted him like a blast-  
  
“SNOW!”

“Heeeeey!”

“Jonnyyyyy!”

-Which only told Jon that most of them were already several alcoholic drinks in, because nobody called him ‘Jonny’ unless they were otherwise inebriated. Even so, he grinned, keeping Dany close as the great beast that was Tormund stomped his way over to them, wild icy blue eyes full of nothing but devious frenzy. After he gave Jon the usual bone-crushing hug, he fixed his eyes on Dany, and Jon was grateful that he was able to keep them fixed above her chin as she had since rid herself of her coat. Thus far, her face was tame amusement, rather than fear of the mountain of a man before her.

“This is Dany. Dany, Tormund,” Jon said, turning for a second as Robb pulled him into a tight embrace, muttering in his ear over the noise that Dany was radiant.

Of course, with a goofy smile on his face, he returned to Dany’s side to find her cackling over something Tormund had said. He didn’t even bother to ask, because it would mean having to explain himself, so he rolled his eyes and stole Dany away to make the rest of the introductions. Within a few more minutes, her friends had found their way over to their little corner, and once everyone knew names, they found a long hand-carved table that would fit the lot of them. Jon, Dany, Tormund, Robb, Margaery, Missandei, Talisa, Grey, Theon, and a few other stragglers.

Nearly half of the room was in uniform, some of them choosing to leave tonight depending on their branch. Jon sat himself between Robb and Dany, leaning to his right to press a kiss to her cheek. It wasn’t often that he saw her blush, but her cheeks pinkened, and it was a treat to witness.

Robb leaned forward on his elbows upon the table, talking across Jon. “He hasn’t stopped talking about you for six bloody weeks, you know.”

“Oh?” She chirped, her hand finding his beneath the table, folding them together in his lap. “Only good things, I would hope.”

Tormund grunted across the table, frothy ale attached to his mustache. “ _Good_ things? You’d think he made you up, like some fantasy. For a whole week we were convinced you weren’t real.”

Jon snorted, bringing his other hand up to pinch at his eyes. Dany was doing her best not to giggle while he was in the spotlight, but he could feel the tension of that restraint even just next to her. 

“Look at ‘im, like a blushing bride,” Tormund thundered, reaching across the table to pat him on the cheek.

Jon was grateful for the muted lighting, because his skin felt like a cavern of fire. Dany erupted in laughter, leaning against him and shifting their hands to her leg.

“I knew I’d regret this,” Jon denounced in jest, pausing when pitchers of ale were brought to their table, sending the men into a deafening roar.

Jon craned his head to look at Dany, nudging her with his shoulder. “Give it a shot. _Real_ ale.”

“I’ll try it _only_ for you, but you have to finish it,” she proposed while he filled a flagon for her.

“I’m not drinking tonight,” he said, meeting her inquisitive, narrowed eyes, and it took all he could to not spill the plans he had for them later.

“Mysterious,” she mumbled, and he knew she wasn’t long for radio silence. “Are you going to stay mysterious? Or do I need to wrestle it out of you?”

He knew she didn’t mean it that way, but that’s where his mind went, anyway. Six weeks of only her voice did a number on him, apparently.

Clearing his throat and mind of such thoughts, he looked at his watch, then to her curious eyes. “You’ll find out in about two hours.”

“Ooh,” she drawled, “so you really are a serial killer, and you’ve found the perfect place to hide my body while everyone else is drunk and distracted.”

He closed his eyes and bit his lip against his grin, reaching over to pinch her side and elicit a muted yelp out of her. “ _No_. If it were that, I had my opportunity earlier when we were alone.”

She sighed and then turned her attention to the golden ale sitting before her, the froth having mostly dissipated by now. “Fine, then. Keep your secrets, Jon Snow. I’m onto you.” She lifted the cup to her lips, taking the most delicate sip he had ever seen anyone do with a drink that was praised mostly by rough-and-tough men.

Her face twisted from a grimace to flat out displeasure, and he could see that she was struggling not to offend anyone else at the table as she cupped a hand over her mouth. Jon snickered at her anyway, watching as her eyes began to water instead. He leaned down to the middle of the table where the napkins were stacked and passed her one.

“Thank you. And no. Definitely not made for ale, authentic or not,” she half choked, sponging the wetness at the corners of her eyes.

“Ya gotta just chug it! One big gulp!” Tormund hollered across the table to her, as if they were at opposite ends of the room and not just a couple of feet away. His eyes caught Jon’s for a beat before he returned to Dany, a mischievous grin plastered to his face. “Pretend it’s Jon’s-”

“Tormund,” Jon shot sternly, brows raising as his friend waved Jon off and started up a separate conversation with Grey next to him.

Dany made a show of clearing her throat, sitting up and stretching her back in such a way that for one fleeting second, he caught sight of her breasts straining against the fabric of her dress. It made him wish he could distract himself by hastily downing the ale sitting right in front of him, but instead, he was saved by whatever her retort to Tormund’s was meant to be when a variety of platters were distributed along their table. Jon could feel his mouth already salivating; he had been so busy, he hadn’t eaten since that morning.

Dinner brought on a quieter atmosphere while they filled their bellies, and Jon spent much of it guiding Dany through all of the dishes she was unfamiliar with. Luckily, most of it seemed to be a hit for her, even the less common meats and roasts.

Once their dishes were cleared away and everyone fell into casual conversation again, Dany turned her mouth toward his ear. "Look at the end of the table."

He did, and found Robb and Talisa huddled up beside one another, speaking closely and nothing but flashes of giddy smiles and awkward glances at one another. He'd never seen Robb look so out of his comfort zone - he was certainly always the more suave one between them, but there was clear attraction between the two. 

It took him a beat to realize that Grey and Missandei had also found themselves intermingling, which left Margaery rolling her eyes at Theon, while Tormund had found another table to socialize at for a while.

"That didn't take long," Jon mused at the two blossoming couples. Something about war time generally stirred up dormant emotions, he supposed.

He felt a movement next to him, rotating his head to see Dany had stood up, and that the open floor was now filling with people. A knowing smile crossed her face as a slow beat came on, and he knew this was the moment he was meant to humiliate himself. Still, he did promise.

"Come, lieutenant. Let's see your moves."

He took her hand and followed her until they found a gap to fit them both, an irrational nervousness swirling in his stomach as he stood there awkwardly. But she didn't tease him, rather she took his free hand and placed it at her waist, then kept their entwined hands together and crooked their arms up a bit, her other coming to lay around the back of his shoulder.

His eyes followed her every move, a small gap between them as she looked up to him with a patient smile. "It's just this, see?"

She drew both of their attention to the floor through the space between them, and he watched with genuine resolve to get it right. It really wasn't terrible - this slow, anyway. It was, basically, a slightly fancier way of moving in the form of a square, a gentle sway ebbing the movements. After a couple of accidental missteps and embarrassed chuckles, he had gotten the hang of it. And, well before the song would end.

Once they found a rhythm, he took the extra half step closer to be pressed against her, his every nerve heightened and drunk on having her so. She tucked her cheek against his shoulder, and he, his over her head.

_I'll be seeing you_

_In every lovely summer's day…_

Closing his eyes, Jon let himself drift just for this moment. It was just him and Dany. The only sound was the bittersweet tune of Billie Holiday, while all the others drowned out. Just a lucky bastard who was desperately in love at the wrong and right time in equal measure.

_In everything that's light and gay_

_I'll always think of you that way…._

Their movements had slowed to a mild sway at some point, and he felt something damp and warm saturate the sleeve of the arm Dany was pressed against. Slowly, so as not to startle her, he brought his head back and cocked it to find narrow streaks of tears staining Dany's cheeks. Her gaze seemed fixed on something, so he followed it once they were at a proper angle. An elderly couple, with the man in an old, faded military uniform, were dancing as best as their brittle bones and rigid hips could muster. Not just that, though. The adoration pouring from their eyes onto each other, never breaking contact, was enough even to crack Jon's buttoned-up amd brooding demeanor. They were the only couple of that age, by far could be grandparents or even great-grands to the rest of the room.

Jon swallowed, trying to enable his throat to open properly so that he could speak. "It's alright," he mumbled against her forehead as he broke technique to properly secure his arms around her fully, linking his hands at her back. 

_It'll be alright_ , was what he longed to say, but it felt terribly deceptive to make such a vow.

Dany didn't speak, but nodded firmly against him while she enclosed her arms snug around his shoulders and neck.

They stayed that way until the song ended and transitioned into another, more lively one. Lowering his mouth to her ear, he said, "Don't expect a jive out of me," to which she promptly giggled and when he could finally see all of her, he thumbed away the wetness beneath her eyes with a timid smile. In response, she lifted to her toes and kissed him warmly - such public affections were generally frowned upon, but he couldn't give less shits - and then she began to retreat with him back to their table.

Instead, he gently tugged her back to him, her eyes widening with subdued bewilderment. After he was certain nobody had their eyes on them, he kept her close to him as he unhooked Dany's coat from the rack in the corner of the room, then took them through a rear exit of the building.

Just outside, nearly on the button, a cab rolled in.

"What's all this about?" Dany asked, slightly breathless as she tried to keep up with his hastened pace. It took all that he had to not just tell her already, but she was so close to discovering for herself. He only hoped that she might find it as exciting as he felt it was.

"You'll see. Soon," he promised, helping her into the car as he followed.

Throughout the short ride, Dany went between trying to pry information out of him (and failing) and was keen on taking in every passing landmark with increased suspicion. It didn't matter, however, since most of what they drove by was country and farm land, save for a few stray small businesses.

Plus, there was no way that Jon was having them taken _directly_ to their destination.

Which only threw her off further.

“It’s just a small walk, I promise,” he assured her with a smile, walking hand-in-hand after they had been dropped off to what looked to be the middle of nowhere.

“I’m telling you,” she returned, “perfect opportunity to become a criminal, right here.”

He chuckled as they came upon a thicket of ironwood trees, passing through the shade of them. Lucky for her, the air had warmed considerably by this point of the day, but Jon didn’t miss the threat of rolling thunderclouds off in the distance when they had left the party. They were threatening to ruin his surprise, but they were nearly there, now.

“Gods, Jon Snow, I never would have suspected you to be capable of keeping a secret. You’re too honest. Mostly, that is.”

He arched an eyebrow in her direction, giving her a look once they finally stepped through the trees. “Speak for yourself, miss,” he needled her lightly, then stopped when she did as his base came into view, blinking rapidly.

“I don’t understand,” she said, a sweet naivety coating her tone.

He tugged her along, now trying to determine how he should approach actually telling her, but he could only string her along for so long before it bordered on cruel. Reaching deep into his pocket, he retrieved his badge and swiped it through the security scanner at the enormous iron gate they stood behind, then pressed his thumbprint to a tiny screen right after. “I’m going to take you somewhere.”

Access granted, he pulled open the iron gate, locking it securely behind them. “I deduced that much, lieutenant,” she muttered, squeezing his hand. “This is all very modern,” she nodded toward the security features.

“Aye. Too many people were trying to break in here and hijack the planes, if you can believe that.”

“The...oh,” she breathed once the aircraft hangars fell into sight. “ _Wow_.”

He huffed a laugh and looked down at her startled expression, stopping when they were well inside where a couple of aircrafts were parked, and turned to face her fully. “As much as I would love to do this with you, I won’t have hurt feelings if you-”

Dany shook her head fervently, and gods, all he wanted to do was kiss her long and hard, but they only had so much time. “No, I want to.”

She stepped toward him and slipped her arms around his torso, once again rendering his brain useless. “You’re sure?” He managed, a thrill creeping down his spine.

“Yes,” she affirmed, pecking his lips. “But...I can’t imagine this is entirely legal?”

“Definitely not legal.”

“And if you get caught?”

Jon wavered his head left to right as if needing to calculate the penalty. “For willingly allowing an unauthorized passenger in here, _before_ boarding an aircraft? I’d only be dismissed from the force entirely and probably fined and definitely imprisoned for some length of time,” he shrugged nonchalantly. “At the minimum. Until they learn my name.”

She gaped up at him, clear protest written on her face. He half expected her to refuse and walk out. “That’s a terribly magnificent risk, for...little old me.”

A corner of his lip ticked up, pressing her closer, his right hand raising to smooth his thumb over her cheek while his heart leapt to his throat, the blood rushing his ears nearly deafening his own words. “Then I suppose it’s fortunate that I love you.”

It took a moment - a debilitating, anxiety-ridden moment - for the words to settle, and he watched as they transpired through the shifting of her face, from serene and flirty to equivocal to impassioned and sentimental. Her jewel-like eyes were searching his desperately, silently, as if anticipating a redaction that wasn’t going to come.

“Gods, Jon, I love you so much. You have no idea,” she barely squeaked out the last words, and instead threw herself against him, arms winding around his shoulders.

He kissed her with such fervor that he was certain he bruised her lips on impact, cuffing her neck with his hand to hold her there for as long as they could allow. There was a needle-like sting behind his eyes, but he couldn’t cry. Not now. Not when they still had time together to not think about war and death.

When they separated, they were both seeking air, the both of them suddenly reluctant to let go of the other. He dipped his chin to kiss her softly this time, gliding his tongue over her bottom lip where he thought he may have crushed to soothe it.

“Ready?” He asked through a whisper, peeking down at her, and she nodded with a beautiful smile.

The loss of her tucked into him was sorely missed the moment he stepped away to head for his locker, where he pulled out two flight suits, carrying them over to her. She looked an uncertain little girl, and he smiled comfortingly. “We have to suit up. Precautionary.”

“Right,” she said. “How did you manage to do this without anyone knowing about it?”

Jon shook out the suits to unfold them, then began to unbutton his shirt, which instantly drew her attention. He was able to resist a sly grin, revealing that he had a short-sleeved shirt on underneath. The pink flush on her cheeks was nearly as vibrant as her lipstick. “Not exactly no one,” he said, peeling his top layer off and letting it fall carelessly to the floor for the time being, while she forced her eyes to stay on his face - which he wouldn’t have presumed was true, if it weren’t for the clear-as-the-skies set of her jaw and unblinking eyes. “Robb and Tormund know, but mostly out of safety. If...you know.”

Her face softened, an audible breath leaving her. “In case we crash and burn into a fiery death?”

Shrugging his confirmation, he handed her her own heavy suit. “And what if I told Robb, only for something to happen to him? I needed a back-up.”

Snorting, Dany shook her head, then considered her own attire versus the one laying across her arm.

“It was the smallest one I could find,” he grimaced apologetically.

“Oh, I’m not worried about that so much as...logistics,” she waved along her current state of dress, and it only occurred to him the effort it would take to make it work.

“I could help you,” he offered, then quickly realized what he may or may not have been suggesting, because he didn’t know where her thoughts were on the matter, and now he was worried that she probably meant she would need her dress off, and... _fuck_. “I mean, help you get into it, if you wanted to wear that underneath it.”

_Fucking moron. Just stop talking._

Heat crept up his back and into the roots of his hair, fingers scratching at his beard. But if Dany noticed his misstep, she didn’t react at all. In fact, she looked perfectly astute on what would work best.

“No, I think dress off. Will that work?”

Since his brain short-circuited at her initial suggestion, he hadn’t realized she had asked him a question until she called his name. Blinking, and horrifically embarrassed, he nodded dumbly. “Uh, sure. If you want. Might not be too comfortable, though.”

A wide grin broke across her face, and he grit his teeth together. “I meant in terms of safety, my love.”

Gods have him, she was going to be the death of him before any damned plane crash. “It’s safe,” he said, clearing his throat.

“Right. Is there…?” She turned on her heel, looking about the vast expanse of the steel structure.

Jon drummed his fingers against his legs, trying to think through the fog in his brain. Of course he didn’t expect anyone else to come wandering in here, but he also didn’t expect her to be comfortable completely stripping off in front of him. “Over here, I think,” he picked up his suit and led her over to the lower-level strip of a room that served as a lounge area for when they were in a waiting period between flights. He opened the door and after making sure that nobody had been hiding out in there, swapped places with Dany while he took station outside of the door.

Toeing off his shoes, he slipped into the legs of the suit, threading all of the different straps so as not to tangle his arms in the wrong loops, and then he heard Dany call his name. He froze, unsure if he should just...open the door, in the event that she was indisposed, so he decided not to. He would likely go into cardiac arrest if he witnessed that, and that wasn’t a healthy disposition to be in when preparing to man an enormous plane.

“Yeah?” He called over his shoulder, securing all the ties and straps before zipping up completely.

“I need help, if you don’t mind me offending your humility for a moment.”

He pressed his eyes closed, teeth clamping onto his bottom lip, but responding with what he hoped to be a clear agreement before he could linger on his indecisiveness further.

Naturally, when he walked in, her bare back toward him, she had one arm hooked across her front. Because, for whatever reason, the gods wanted to test his resilience and stability as she had decided _not_ to wear a bra beneath her dress. At the very least, she had panties on, but it was red that matched her dress exactly, and lace. And, for fuck’s sake, she was perfect. Her shapely, rounded rear taunted him, slackening his jaw, and he began to mentally thank each of the seven gods for this damned thick, bulky uniform, because even with trousers on, his cock surged to full staff.

Somehow, he willed his legs forward, but felt they could go out on him at a moment’s notice. It was a good thing that she wasn’t too far out of his reach, but once he was at a proper distance behind her, the proximity was intoxicating. She contoured and curved in all of the right places, her skin looking soft as silk.

If there was any relief, it was that her legs at least were already in the right places. One less step and one more grain of restraint to want to have any excuse to touch her.

He knelt down, careful to leave a modest space between his face and her ass, fixing his eyes on the fabric as if it were some delicate piece of work, then grabbed each side and brought it up with him. It probably would have been smart to think this through beforehand, but how could he know? All he did know was that they were both deafeningly quiet through the process as he worked the various straps and buckles, trying to ignore the fact that she had to uncover herself to get each of her arms through the sleeves, even though he stayed at her back.

“Wait. Stay here,” he said, his unreliable voice cracking on him just to add to the intensity of it all. It was probably just him. At least the walk to retrieve his button-down shirt relieved some of the strain in his trousers. This way, there would be less chance of her skin chafing with an added layer.

“Alright,” he quietly announced his return. “We have to go a little backwards here, but let’s put this on you.”

She retracted her arms, and he helped her into his shirt, but it was almost impossible to not graze her shoulders with his knuckles. Just the very vague, feather-like touch was enough to send his head spinning, hoping that the approaching curse didn’t escape him without his consent.

“Ever the gentleman,” she complimented over her shoulders, and he waited for her to button herself up. The only thing he could do was smile in return, since his cock was playing games with him again. “Have you wasted away back there?”

“Me?” He asked, like a an idiotic fool, assisting her further until she was almost completely dressed. “I’m fine.”

_Bloody terrible liar._

Dany turned around to face him after he strapped the last buckle into place, arms out. It was unfair that she didn’t lose an ounce of attraction, not that he minded. The image of her mostly nude was burned into his retinas, and he kept seeing it even with the khaki suit in the way.

“I feel as though I should be fixing a car engine in this,” she joked, picking up her dress from the floor.

“I think you might have to come with me tomorrow. You look the part,” he said with a half smile, stepping closer to press a brief kiss to her cheek. “Let’s go.”

Her face transformed into something between elation and terror, but nodded her compliance. A small bag was packed of their belongings, and then he walked her through the hangar.

“Are we taking this one?” She asked, examining the enormous beast of a black fighter plane.

“No - far too risky, and would draw too much attention. That one is mine, though,” he gave the belly of it a pat as they passed by.

He paused when he heard her footsteps cease, looking behind him to see her hands grazing over the yellow paint printed on the side, a warm smile adorning her cheeks. “You named it Lyanna?”

Feeling bashful, he nodded. “All the good ones have names, so…”

“It’s sweet. You’re sweet,” she praised, catching up to him to link her arm in his.

“This one is _mine_ mine, though. The one we’ll fly.”

It was another black aircraft - a biplane - and though it was still a large structure, it was a quarter the size of the fighter. Dany’s eyes were laden with wonder, and he was impressed that she wasn’t doubled over with fear. Perhaps that would change once they got into the air.

After he thoroughly briefed her on safety guidelines - how to extinguish a fire, how to deploy her attached parachute, even a general idea of how to take control of the plane should some sort of emergency declare him unable to (such as thoughts of her mostly-naked body, to which he kept to himself) - he fit a thick headset over her head, then his, and tested both of them for audio.

Once all was set and secured, Dany seated and secured behind him, he pulled his sunglasses over his eyes and they began to glide out of the hangar. Through his headset, he could hear Dany’s initial squeal, and once they reached the runway, he verbalized that they were pushing forward.

The timing had been perfect, even despite the uniform hiccup - the sun was just beginning to set, fighting for purchase above the incoming roll of storm clouds just beneath it. At least Dany would get a full view of the land before the light was swallowed up.

Their speed increased and increased, building until the weight beneath them was gone and they were graduating further and further up. This was something Jon could never tire of, the thrill and weightlessness of floating in the skies, amidst the bottom layer of clouds. Once he reached altitude, he leveled them even.

“Still breathing back there?” He buzzed into her ear.

“Just barely,” she squeaked against the static, but even over that and the breeze, the elation was there.

Smiling widely, he took them northeast, coasting as the sky transformed before them, from a clementine orange to navy and violet streaks lashing across the hazy pink. He glanced down at the passing ground below every so often, then found his route, pulling up just so until they were drifting over the snow-capped mountains. There was a slighter chill at this elevation, but the gasp from Dany that followed while they passed over the peaks wasn’t in reference to the climate.

He didn’t even feel the need to speak - hearing her elated noises and commentary - which was often interrupted by other words of exclamation each time she saw something she liked - were enough to fill his heart to bursting. They rounded over the edge of White Harbor and above the coast of the Narrow Sea, wisps of steam curling off the surface of the water. From here, he could spot the departure zone and the carrier that he would be boarding, and suddenly the anticipation nauseated him when it never had before.

“There’s a storm rolling in,” he announced, leading them back toward Winterfell. At least they had gotten a solid thirty minutes in - he wasn’t entirely convinced he would be able to get her to agree to it, but he was pleased beyond words.

Sure enough, a few minutes later, a sprinkle of rain began to slap against his face, but they weren’t far now. Another benefit of living where he did with the open fields meant he was given plenty of room to land on his own property, parallel to the wooded garden behind the cottage. 

The descent had Dany cursing abruptly, then disintegrating into uncontrollable giggles. Jon scrunched his nose with a chuckle, the rain beginning to spit harder now. By the time they were landed and parked, it had picked up tremendously, soaking them within seconds as a rustling boom of thunder reverberating over his skin. He helped catch Dany from her seat, and once he had the bag of their previously discarded clothing over his shoulder, they ran precariously through the sloshing ground until Jon had them pushing through the front door.

Ghost hardly had time to get there first, trotting down the hall to examine where exactly they had been without him, tail wagging so frantically it nearly dismantled a vase on the end table near the front door.

“Hi, darling,” Dany’s teeth chattered as she knelt down to give Ghost all of the attention he liked to pretend he never got. “Jon. I can’t get up,” she giggled, and he laughed as he pulled her up to her feet.

“Let’s get you out of that before you freeze to death,” he proclaimed, still a little winded as he hastily stripped his uniform off and brought her upstairs to where her clean, dry clothes were.

He didn’t even think when his fingers went for the zipper of her front - all that mattered was that her entire body was quivering, to the point where she seemed incapable of speaking. So, when he began to undo all of the obstacles that suddenly felt all-too-unnecessary in the space of his bedroom, he stopped with a start, unsure how he had managed to forget that she was wearing very little underneath.

The movement of her hands above him as she continued to loosen the buttons of the shirt gave him a swift kick in the ass to do what he was supposed to be doing. He had her brace a hand on his back while he helped her out of the material, which was exponentially heavier being sopping wet, and once she was freed, he gathered her suit and momentarily left her to chuck both of the uniforms into the bath hall, but also to get a hold on his groin.

After a dignified moment, he returned to his bedroom to find her discarded shirt on the floor, and Dany sat bundled up on his bed beneath the thick fur blanket. He offered her a smile and thought to sit beside her, but his clothes were still drenched as well. Additionally, he didn't miss the way her eyes roamed him, making him conscious of the fact that his shirt acted as a second skin as it clung to every muscle.

"Better?" He asked, stunned that he had a voice at all, and needing to just ignore the fact that she was mostly nude under that cover. And on his bed. She gave him a firm nod, then stole a glance at his midsection before returning to his face.

"What about you?" Her voice was small, but there was something else lying dormant there, too.

He breathed a laugh through his nose. "I'm fine. This is pretty mild for me."

Thunder rippled through the walls and rattled the window panes, the blue flash of lightning illuminating the room further. He went to turn to perhaps change his clothes, or give her the privacy to do the same - he didn't exactly know - but her chilled hand caught his before he could take one step. Eyes searching, her other hand kept the blanket cinched around her at the neck, but the slit at the bottom revealed what he already knew as her thigh fell into view, but all else was shadowed.

Slowly she pulled him closer, and he was too dumbstruck to figure out what to say.

"You know, they say the most efficient way to keep warm is by removing all your clothes, and sharing body heat."

He blinked, swallowing thickly as his throat was surely closing on him, cutting off his air supply and thus brain function, and therefor making him hear wrong. Her slow, coy smile was the only thing that proved otherwise, his heart practically rattling against the cage of his chest now. "By 'they', do you mean you?" He half smirked, trying to buy time so he could kick start his lungs into providing oxygen for him.

Dany tugged on his hand, her knees brushing against the front of his legs now. "Possibly," she whispered through a hopeful smile, something ablaze and imploring seeping through the thickening pupils, but something tentative, too. Pleading, but not pushing.

As if he would deny her. Not in this lifetime, or any after.

Bringing her hand up to his mouth, he pressed a kiss to her knuckles before letting go, trying not to cheat and peek into where the blanket had opened through the gesture. Reaching for the hem of his painted-on shirt, he peeled it off and let it fall to the floor with a slap, and her heavy-lidded eyes burning through him made him feel like a subject of a gentleman's club. Only, this was the only audience he would wish to have.

He watched her drinking him in, sucking his bottom lip in between his teeth and clamping down to hopefully ward off his ever-hardening cock. It likely didn't matter, anyhow - his soaked pants did little to disguise any surprise, and her attention had already fallen there when he began to unbuckle his belt. Drawing in a silent breath, he shoved them down with his underwear all in one sweep, then kicked them over somewhere where they wouldn't trip someone up.

Standing bare as his name day before her was exhilarating and liberating and a lot less harrowing than he expected it to be. One could conclude that was because she looked as though she were preparing for a meal after a long famine.

He stilled his breath, fists balling and relaxing at his side as she rose to her knees and backed up, her eyes never leaving his as she parted open the furs, arms opening in invitation.

_Fuck_. He couldn't even be confident enough that he could make the two steps to his bed without stumbling over his own feet and concussing himself and ruining the entire mood. His eyes ravaged her; even in the muted evening light that was quickly diminishing, he could make out every curve and valley, the contrast of her nipples against her full, rounded breasts that he would hopefully, very soon, make his. At some point, unbeknownst to him, she had done away with her underwear, and the thatch of light wisps of hair over her cunt was enough to make him salivate.

Somewhere he gathered enough sense to go to her before she either caught another chill, or changed her mind at his inability to make his legs function again. He made it safely to the edge of the bed without a fall, climbing onto his knees and, before joining her completely, laid a kiss at the front of her shoulder above her collarbone. Then, she was welcoming him within the warmth of her embrace as she linked her arms around his shoulders and neck, enveloping them beneath the furs that suddenly felt scorching when their skin touched in all the places they hadn't yet.

An involuntary sharp breath left his parted mouth, and then he sat on his butt with his legs spread but bent at the knee at either side of her. Cuffing his hands at the back of her creamy soft thighs, he manipulated her gently until she was seated in his lap, breath hitching when she lowered herself, but kept just the smallest gap between his straining cock and the heat of her core. He could feel it radiating against his skin even without her seated on him.

Noses brushing, heart pounding mercilessly, he straightened his back until he caught her mouth on his, both of them simultaneously sighing against each others faces. All of the pent up tension and longing dissolved as they molded into each other, Jon smoothing his hands over her thighs while Dany arched her back closer into him, her breasts grazing his chest and forcing him to swallow his groan.

Dany's hand not occupied by the closure of the blanket cuffed the back of his neck, fingers lightly carding through his damp hair and over his scalp. Jon changed angles and promptly plunged his tongue deep into her mouth, sliding his right hand up along her ribcage until his palm filled with the weight of her breast, eliciting a soft moan from her throat that was sure to send him into another dimension entirely.

He thumbed over her nipple, kneading gingerly and trying his damndest to take note of what she was most responsive to. Rising onto her knees once more, she pushed herself flush against him, without detaching from his pillaging mouth, all the while letting the blanket fall and pool around his hips as she seated the silken, slick heat of her cunt over his flushed and ripened cock.

The growl punching through his chest vibrated through his throat, jaw slackening when she whimpered and nipped his bottom lip. With imploring hands, he braced them at her hips and aided in their slow rocking, opening his eyes to find her brow delightfully wrinkled and soft pants puffing against his face.

His eyes slammed shut and eyes rolled when she added more pressure, lubing his length from root to tip and leaving him feeling completely liquified and almost out-of-body. As much as he wanted to draw this out, he could already feel the coiling tension within his stones and in his spine. 

Regardless, he was determined to make a go of several rounds long before dawn could intrude on them.

Jon latched his mouth to the juncture of her neck, trailing his lips down to the soft curve of her shoulder, relishing in her increasing moans and mewls as he gently tilted his hips to meet her every glide. He was determined to hear more of her, to draw out something more feral and uncontrolled.

His teeth nipped at the tender skin of her collar bone and left behind a small mark, soothing it with his tongue, then skimmed his hand over the crevice of her hip, catching the hardened, now-slick pearl of her clit with the soft pad of his thumb. Instantly, she stilled, ragged breaths causing her chest to heave against him as he applied slow, firm circles against her, until she used the strength of her arms around his shoulders to hug him tighter, her forehead dropping against his the moment he lifted his head to see her coming undone.

With her mouth slackened, she pressed her tongue to the roof of her mouth and keened a muted whine, driving him up the fucking wall and forcing his hips to rut in response. Still, he could see that she was trying to refrain from reacting too much. Lifting his chin, he mouthed at her, leveling a steady pace between thumb and hips. “Let me hear you, Dany,” he husked, and that must have been all of the encouragement she needed, because when he drew his hips back to glide his fingers through her searing, wet folds, her forehead fell to his shoulder and the sob that fell from her mouth would have been enough to make him come had he any less control over his body.

Relinquishing his hand to fix both hands at her thighs, she raised her head to meet his determined, hazy gaze as he lifted her, fisting his cock after freeing one hand and aligned the head with her core, slowly massaging her and collecting her juices.

“Fuck,” he breathed with a stunted shake of his head.

Dany cradled his face with both of her hands, then pressed a sweet, warm kiss to his lips before she lowered herself, just an inch, and just that was enough for him to see white behind his lids, groaning deep into her mouth. He tilted his hips up, slowly, allowing her to form to him as he stretched her patiently. Frantic, hot puffs of air coated his face as she broke away for a moment, and then in one smooth motion, seated herself fully until their skin kissed.

They both groaned, long and high, and sat without moving for a beat. Jon dipped his head to circle his tongue around a beaded nipple, enclosing his lips around the peak with a gentle suckle, heaving a growl when she rolled her hips in response, unsure how his body could function without blacking out from every cell in his body fighting to keep him so. He drew out a couple of inches before driving into her, doing so again and again until they reached a pace that was quickly leaving them with staggered breaths and heaps of tangled limbs, skin coated with a clammy sweat despite the cooler air outside.

But, Jon needed more leverage, as blissful as she was, wrapping her up in his arms and laying her below him on her back. His eyes caught hers as she planted her feet on the bed while he stayed nestled within her narrow depths. “You’re so beautiful, Dany,” he whispered, rolling his thumb over her cheek and settling it at her jaw.

She smiled bashfully, smoothing her hands over his muscles shoulders and over the gentle swells of his arms braced at either side of her. “You’re not so bad yourself, lieutenant. How does it feel to be the most handsome man in the room everywhere you go?”

He sputtered a sound of disagreement, making a face that sent her giggling, until she reached down to grab two handfuls of his ass, biting down on her lip as she urged him to continue. Pressing his forehead to hers, he did as she bid, withdrawing to the ridge of the head of his cock and pushing in, deep, lowering his hand between them to administer a similar rhythm to her clit. Once more, they found an agreeable pace, her legs rising and thighs squeezing his sides as her shoulders rolled back with her head into the pillow below her.

He ducked his head into her neck, quickening his momentum and drawing some rather animalistic, throaty noises from the both of them until he could feel her pulsing around him, and his own release was just on the edge of the cliff. She was so close, and practically thrashing below him, so he thought to punctuate her crest by hooking his arms around the back of her knees, throwing one leg over his shoulder.

Apparently, he had discovered her tipping point, because after two deep thrusts she was completely wrecked below him, crying into his mouth when he lowered to kiss her through it, but then he leapt right after her, his movements quickly becoming erratic as his nerves frayed and mind detonated, feeling weightless yet heavy, set ablaze as he growled heartily with her.

Lowering to his forearms, their dampened skin fusing, they waited in a serene silence, save for the bumbling thunder, trying to steady their breaths. He tucked his forehead just below her collarbone, pressing sweet kisses there in-between inhales.

After a moment, he unwound her tired legs from him and used his foot to catch the fur throw, bringing up just over their hips while he nestled in next to her.

Was this real? Was she real? Had this truly happened, or would he soon wake to a clap of thunder only to find life the way it was six weeks prior?

With what looked to be an effort, Dany rolled to her side, the flashes of lightning their only light source now as the sun had set some time ago, now. He combed some askew strands of hair and curved them behind her ear, then cupped her head to bring her in for a tender kiss.

  
“Did it work?” She whispered, a lazy, dopey smile crossing her face. He narrowed his eyes at her in question, confident his voice had been rubbed raw. “The warming up thing.”

A halfhearted snort left him, making her laugh with her brows raised. “Aye. I’d say it _worked_ ,” he rasped and groped a handful of her ass to emphasize his meaning.

“You’ve just reminded me,” she said, and he wondered how in the seven hells she mustered any energy to sit up so abruptly, her hair messy and astray as she tossed the blanket off of them in one sweep, exposing him without pause. He moved to watch her as she rolled his hips so that he was lying on his belly, then, with a most pleased grin, lowered to place a tickling kiss to each of his ass cheeks before returning to him again.

He watched her with much amusement, and she only shrugged as she pushed him over so that she could fold herself flush against him once more. “I missed them almost as much as I missed you.”

"I'm sure you did," he chuckled softly, slinging his arm around her until there wasn’t a centimeter of space between them once they were re-bundled under the blanket. "You reminded me every day for six weeks."

“Mm. You have quite a form, Jon Snow,” she said sleepily, her soft breaths of words peppering across his face like a lull for sleep. “I think I might change my favorite subject of study to anatomy.”

A groggy laugh bounced within his chest, smiling like a blissed-out fool. “Just as an excuse to ogle, I’m sure.”

“And touch,” she added without hesitation, her fingers tracing the ebbs of his abdominal muscles.

“If you keep doing that, we’ll never sleep tonight.” It was a playful challenge, but out loud he thought he sounded far less enthused by the prospect, when the opposite was true.

“I didn’t plan on it, anyway, my love,” she returned, but sounded equally just as blanketed by exhaustion.

Sighing comfortably, Jon went to speak, but found himself lacking any motivation to move his mouth. Within a few more minutes, he felt Dany slump further in his arms, and he rested his chin above her head, breathing her in until sleep overcame him.

* * *

✈️👗💄🐺

* * *

After the first two hours, sleep didn't come easy.

Jon fell into a coma-like doze for about an hour before he woke to the thunderstorms still prevailing, and Ghost flopping down onto the bedroom floor to sleep. For whatever reason, the moment his eyes opened, he felt wide awake, as if he had slept for a day.

Neither he nor Dany moved during that time, however, still settled against one another. Carefully as to not wake her, he reached down to pull the blanket up to her shoulders, kissing her forehead and sweeping away the tiny stray hairs that had found their way around her cheeks. He listened to the slow rhythm of breaths through her nose, taking in what little he could see of her face as the lightning highlighted her every now and again. His thumb traced all of her delicate features like porcelain, the gentle prominence of her brow and thick framing brows, the supple apple of her cheek, plush and perfectly kissable lips. He followed his own tracing over her jaw, to the underside down to the hollow of her neck.

Another hour passed with him simply gazing at her freely, skimming his fingers over her body where she wasn't pressed against him. Unintentionally, he had grown half hard against her lower abdomen, and her subtle shift to get impossibly closer in her slumber brushed friction over him, lengthening him. He had to wonder if she felt it even in her sleep, but there was no sign of so as she settled once more. 

He waited a little longer, not quite ready to leave the comfort of her entangled in him, and then he cautiously removed each of his limbs from their pretzel until he was tucking the edges of the blankets around her. The faintest hum of a whimper sounded from her throat, adorably so, but she otherwise remained unbothered.

Sneaking off into the bathroom after giving Ghost some reassuring pets, he shut the door the majority of the way and switched on the tap to the shower. Perhaps a hot shower would force his body to shut down after. He waited until the room was well-steamed before stepping in, sighing longly as the hot pellets pricked his head and back.

After he was properly washed and rinsed, he leaned his forearm against the wall and pressed his forehead there, closing his eyes while letting the hot water beat at his back. His mind strayed, his traitorous mind that was forbidding him from forgetting he was about to deploy in a matter of hours, that these newfound comforts with Dany, while he cherished them with his whole heart, would be short lived. These were his final moments of peace - if not for forever, then for the foreseeable future. Soon, he would come to understand the things he took for granted in his day-by-day. Bastard or not, he had luxuries those in the east longed for, and hopefully would come to have in due time.

The slavers of Essos were a formidable force. How long until they could bring peace to the country, to be rid of the terrors that plagued so many innocent lives? Men, women, and children alike suffering at the hands of the power-obsessed. Every day they woke up not knowing whether they would survive through their next meal - or what was considered one, anyway. His blood ran hot thinking about it; when he enlisted, the most he expected was to be stationed at the base in his homeland - at worst, subject to a janitorial job, and at best, maybe some type of radio communication.

He never would have expected to be accepted into the Westeros Air Force, which he highly admired. As a boy, he always had a profound love for aircrafts. Uncle Ned always spoiled him, collecting metal figurines of them during his work travels, and when there was time, he would drive him to local airports just to watch them take off and buzz above their heads. Uncle Ned shared as much enthusiasm about them as Jon did, even if he was only humoring him. 

His uncle was a wonderful man of honor, a social worker for the welfare of women and children. It was extremely taboo, more especially when he had entered the workforce, and Catelyn was less than thrilled by the prospect of much of his time spent in an office away from home. But Ned didn't let anyone's input divide him from his passion, and that was the encouragement that Jon took with him forever.

He craved the thrill of flying, but as he grew older and learned the purpose of the military, so did his understanding for what it, as a whole, represented.

It was one of those childhood fantasies that stuck, but knowing that bastards were never legally allowed to fight, it could only be a dream and not his reality.

The measures he took to make it so were, admittedly, precarious if not a bit stupid, given what the consequences could bring. Ned Stark would certainly be rolling in his grave. But if not for his passion and (downright stubborn) resilience, he would not have met Samwell Tarly. If not for Samwell Tarly, he would not have been accepted into the force and thus brought to King's Landing for the final, gut-churning last hurdle to get his wings.

If not for any of that, he never would have Dany.

Now, he realized nauseously, that because of all of that, he might never have her again after tomorrow.

"Jon?"

He'd been so submerged in the void of his thoughts, and of Dany, for a moment he thought his mind was playing tricks on him. Still, her voice was a pleasant interlude, parting the curtain to find her standing just outside the shower, her eyes wide with worry and bundled in a thin cotton blanket.

"Couldn't sleep," he smiled, or tried to, anyway. By the way her face contorted and brows slanted, he must have looked rather grim. "Did I wake you?"

She shook her head. "I got cold, then noticed you went missing," she reflected his poor attempt at a smile, her eyes darting into his space and back to his face. "May I join you?"

His breath came to a sharp halt, but nodded with a large gulp as she followed his affirmation by dropping the blanket informally to the floor. Naturally, his entire blood supply coursed south; under the limpid light of the bathroom, rather than the dull and stormy evening filter from earlier, there was no trace of skin to be concealed.

He watched her with blatant reverence as she stepped in with him, not bothering to hide his roaming eyes. There were no adjectives in the common tongue that could justifiably describe how fucking beautiful she was. And even if there was, they still wouldn't do.

She gave him a brief lookover, then curled her arms around his torso and tucked her face into his neck, flush against him.

"Here," he muttered, rotating them so that the water was at her back to warm her, then echoed her position and laid his cheek against the side of her head.

After a beat, she lightly raked her nails all down his back in a gesture of comfort, making his skin prickle with gooseflesh despite the boiling room. “Have you been here long?”

“I’m not sure, actually,” a puff of air left his nose, a pitiful attempt at a laugh. “I think so.”

Lifting her head, she moved them as best she could in the small space so that the water didn’t assault their faces, and peered up at him. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He lifted a shoulder with a shrug, the uninvited swirl of sick beginning to unrest him. “I’m starting to feel the weight of everything, now.”

Nodding patiently, a soft smile danced on her lips. “Is there anything I can do?”

_More time. I need more time with you._

He lifted his hands from her waist to hold her face, then dipped his head to kiss her tenderly. The last thing he needed, at least right now, was for her to worry herself sick over him. Not when he was still here. “Let me wash you.”

She grinned against him, giving him a look. “Alright, Jon Snow. But you better keep those talented hands in respectable areas only,” she teased, placing one sloppy kiss on him before he smiled coyly and turned her around.

After he squirt a dollop of shampoo in his hand, he gently massaged it well into her hair, through to her scalp.

She hummed in contentment, and Jon absorbed how her breaths went off-kilter while his lathered hands traveled further and further down her skin, and it took him a beat to realize he wasn't breathing at all. He dropped his head, shifting them a hair further up so that the water wouldn't seep into his mouth and nose as he feathered his lips over the slope of her neck, down to where it met her shoulder, dropping a soft kiss at the velvety, fleshy curve while she pressed and molded into him.

He exhaled a hot breath against her skin, his firm and throbbing cock sandwiched between the topmost portion of her ass, hands gliding lower until the soft thatch of hair brushed beneath his fingers.

“Is this respectable?” He asked gruffly as she began to squirm against him.

By way of answering, she dropped her head back against his shoulder and took a hold of his hand, guiding him straight to the slick heat between her thighs. Immediately he worked two digits through her folds, igniting a sensuous moan out of her as she reached backward to cuff her hand against the back of his neck, mouth falling open while he slowly retreated, pushed forward his fingers. With her face delightfully twisted, he dipped his index into the constricting heat of her core, his teeth lightly clamping onto the flesh below it as they both groaned in unison.

His left hand found a breast, kneading and caressing in similar rhythm to the pumping of his finger inside of her, adding a third to stretch her wider.

" _Jon_ ," she pleaded, though it almost sounded more like a desperate gasp than his name while her hand at his neck tugged a few curls in her grasp.

He didn't think he could get any more hard, but his cock appeared able to defy physics.

He retracted his fingers to run them over the small, hardened pearl of her clit, and this time she released a tortured whimper, making his own eyes roll behind his eyelids.

Just a little bit longer, and he'd let her have what she wanted.

"Are you trying to kill me?" She wept against his attentions.

In response, he tucked three fingers inside of her, cooking them just so and gently, with the fleshy bit of his palm against her clit, he pulled her back against his rioting cock, latching his mouth to her shoulder to muffle his own growl. After that, she began to rut against his hand as best as their position would allow her, her mewling coming more frequent and more pleading, and he was almost certain that the friction layered on top of all of that would make him come well before he meant to.

She let out a whine once he removed his hand from the pulsing heat between her thighs, turning her to lay a downright filthy kiss on her mouth.

Without a moment’s hesitation, he switched off the tap and made quick work of drying both of them as best as he could, the thought of tasting her taking precedence over anything else. He playfully glared at her when she insisted she brush out her hair first, something about it being a rat’s nest by morning if she didn’t, but the glint in her eye most _definitely_ said she was a filthy liar who only meant to draw his torture out.

  
So, the very second she dropped her brush into one of her bags, he collected her in his arms and practically dropped her onto the fur throw with an amused yelp and her giggles ringing through the room. Kneeling before her, he pushed her knees apart and, first thing, placed a languid kiss to her mouth before he dragged his lips down the center of her body, pausing now and again to kiss the sweet-smelling flesh. When he reached his destination, he had to give himself a second to collect himself by trailing small kisses and skin-nips along each of her inner thighs. Then, he nosed at her already-erect clit, her pelvis pressing toward the bed with a soft gasp.

If he were a betting man, he’d say she would last about as long as he had.

Lowering his face, he smoothed his hands over her thighs and gently opened her further for him, stealing a glance upward to find her head slightly lolled to the side, but eyes fixed on him. Heart stammering, he pressed the flat of his tongue directly over her entrance, dragging it up the length of her cunt until he suctioned his mouth around her clit and administered small circles around her.

Reaching his arm up, he tangled his hand with hers as she squeaked a whimper beneath him, thighs moving to squeeze at his head, but he shouldered them apart once more. She groaned in protest, making him grin.

“You’re the worst,” she aggrieved weakly, pumping his hand with hers.

For that, he continued to work her with his mouth, all the while plunging two fingers within her hot depths, making her cry out into the still night air. He hummed a sound of gratification, pumping his fingers at the speed that she was cresting, and within seconds her unclaimed hand tangled into his damp hair and pressed him harder into her until a resounding sob erupted from her, splitting the silence of the room. Easing off of her, he gently retracted his hand and reached for the abandoned towel on the floor, cleaning off his fingers and, with care of her sensitivity, did the same to her saturated cunt before throwing it carelessly off the bed.

When he looked down at her, a sprawled and satiated mess, brushed hair now askew and chest expanding to suck in air, he couldn’t help the wide grin that crossed his face, sliding over her to press soft kisses to her collarbone before sliding in beside her. Instantly, she curled herself into him beneath the thicket of blankets, and they lay there for some unknown amount of time, his mind reeling once more.

“Dany,” he whispered, half a test to be sure he wasn’t waking her from a slumber, but she lifted her chin to find him as she danced her fingers over his back. “Do you remember when you asked me if I was afraid, and I said I wasn’t?”

Nodding her understanding, he licked his lips and swallowed the knot constricting his throat.

“I am now,” he said, barely a whisper as he could feel his voice failing him. “I have a reason to be now."

Rolling onto her stomach, her face pinched just slightly, he flipped onto his back while she crawled up to lay atop his chest, slim fingers plucking some of his stray hairs. “I’ve heard the rumors, about how terrible this one will be. Westeros has the best military force in the world, Jon. And they have you.”

Her last words were weaker, but not out of doubt. He blinked a couple of times, arms loosely circling around her back. “Maybe, but even so…,” he drew in a breath, exhaled, “we’ll be fighting by air, land, and sea.”

She watched him with such endearment in her eyes, seeming to weigh what she wanted to say carefully. “I wish there was more I could say, or do,” she shook her head, at a loss, and he circled his thumbs against the smooth skin of her sides. He was grateful that she didn’t try to sugar-coat the situation to appease him. “But I need you to promise me something.”

A breath of air left his mouth, and he was already shaking his head in dispute. “No, Dany. I can’t.”

“You don’t even know what it is yet,” she said, with a ghost of a smile as she lowered a hand to jab his ribs. He pressed his lips together and gave her a nod. “I want you to promise me that you’ll leave tomorrow with just as much enthusiasm as you had before you met me.”

Her fingers were already on his lips before he could protest, a deep frown wrinkling his brow, not quite understanding her meaning.

“I can’t have you distracted while you’re over there, and I’m here,” her voice warbled, blinking rapidly to fend off the intruding tears. “Because I need you back in one piece, no matter how long that takes.”

Before he could react, she lowered her face into his chest and he felt the warm tickle of tear drops sizzle his skin, pressing his eyes closed as he wrapped her up close, glazing his knuckles along her back until her breaths evened. His own eyes burned, but he kept the dampness at bay by some miracle. “I can’t promise you that, Dany,” he breathed softly, “because that would mean I’d have to forget you, and I can’t do that. Not even pretend it. If anything, you’ve given me more reason to hope.”

Her head moved so that her cheek lay against him, directly above his heart, but she remained silent.

“All I can promise is that I’ll do my damndest to get back home to you,” he said. “Not sure about if I’d be in one piece or ten, but…,” he shrugged, an attempt to lighten the mood a little bit.

It worked, as her shoulders shook with a gentle laugh, raising her head to lay her chin against his sternum to see him properly. His thumb moved on instinct to swipe away the wet beneath her eyes, from what he could see in the very muted light. “I would still love you, even if all of your limbs are missing and you’re just a stump with a head.”

A lazy snort left him, closing his eyes to shake his head. “If that’s the case, then I’d let you put me out of my misery. Can’t be rolling around on the floor just to get by.”

She barked a laugh that took her own self by surprise, clamping a hand over her mouth. Smiling, he rolled the both of them onto their sides and tucked her into him again, bringing the blankets up to their arms. “I love you, Dany,” he whispered, keeping her close. After all she had given him, how could he deny her this one thing? “I’ll come back to you.”

“Promise?” She asked, voice laden with exhaustion.

With one long, measured breath, inhaling the scent of her, he gave a singular nod. “Promise.”

* * *

✈️👗💄🐺

* * *

_I'll find you in the morning sun  
And when the night is new... _

The train station was unusually cramped at the early hour, which made Jon glad for their preparedness to leave earlier than usual.

Not that it mattered much - the both of them had been so restless through the night, constantly waking to find the other was struggling to sleep. The rest of the night had been spent just talking, or laying silent, holding the other, desperate to hold off the morning for as long as possible. Playfully bantering about who would write more, or call more if Jon was given the opportunity should they find rest in any of the villages of the Free Cities.

Dany had insisted on joining him to the train station, as much as Jon tried to persuade her to stay at his house to get some sleep before she would return to King’s Landing. He’d given her his key, and briefed her on who Grenn was, and that should she ever decide to drop by for any reason, he wasn’t a random bloke taking up residence in his home.

Boarding was just announced as they arrived to the platform, and Jon parked his oversized luggage before turning to Dany, an overwhelming melancholy blanketing him once her glossed eyes found his. Without missing a beat, they were embracing with such a grip that he was certain he’d crushed her ribs, but she squeezed him further still and sniffled into his neck.

_I'll be looking at the moon_  
_But I'll be seeing you._

They stayed that way until the very last minute, when the attendant had to announce, with extra vigor, that they would be departing whether or not that meant certain military personnel being dismissed. Jon shot the man a blazing scowl, then held Dany out by her arms and took her face in his hands, kissing her with as much affection as was possible, trying to jam however much time he’d be without her worth of love and tenderness and _promise_ into it.

“I love you, Dany,” he breathed, bordering on collapsing right before her if he didn’t go now.

“I love you, too,” she kissed him right when the attendant was approaching, her eyes widening slightly. “Come back to me, Jon.”

With a firm nod, he rained kisses all over her face, much to the disgruntlement of the attendant, soaking in the sight of her for one last moment before he dragged himself and his luggage away, off to a new world.

_I'll be seeing you,_  
_In every lovely summer's day,_  
_In everything that's light and gay,_  
_I'll always think of you that way,_

_I'll find you in the morning sun,_  
_And when the night is new,_  
_I'll be looking at the moon,_  
_But I'll be seeing you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (P.s. I know Dany's hair is light in the story and my moodboard is mostly brunette, but let's just roll with it 😂)


	3. I Had A Dream I Got Everything I Wanted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand, we're back!  
> Thank you, again, for the love and support of this little story ❤ the feedback is like crack, but a healthy crack(?)
> 
> Anyway, this chapter is the calm-before-the-storm, and the title of it is most certainly inspired by Billie Eilish's song "Everything I Wanted". Things are going to go down after this one, but I promise to make it as light as possible with the war themes going on. I did change the archive warning re: violence, since that's sort of inevitable, but fair warning that it will exist in here as we get into the meat of it.
> 
> There will be time jumps mentioned later on (as in days/weeks/maybe months) with plenty of story to fill the gaps. So this doesn't turn into a monster of a story 😂
> 
> Currently writing chapter 5 as we speak, and it would be just dandy if I could keep up these weekly updates 😶
> 
> Hope you enjoy this one!

  
  
  
  
Jon's skin was so hot to the touch, he was certain that when he would next make a change in his clothes, he would peel off a thick layer of himself with it. Even with his newly-cropped hair, it barely did a thing to ward off the constant sheen of sweat licking his skin.

He'd been all too tempted to pitch himself off the carrier ship into the sea just to get some relief. It didn't help that they were fully-uniformed in black and armed on top of it. And, they still had yet to reach desert land.

Gods - even the heat of King's Landing could never hope to prepare him for this scorcher of a country. Not even the one time he took a day-and-a-half's train ride to Dorne to visit Robb years ago - the Red Mountains were tepid in comparison. How Dany would tease him for his grumbling. He smiled at the very thought of it.

Still, he could not deny the beauty of Essos, at least at a distance. Everything looked as though someone painted a thin coat of red, orange and brown over the land, seemingly mimicking its climate. Braavos, however, once they approached the shores, echoed hues of whites and blues, sprawling city splintered by the sapphire lagoon below. The outer banks of the city were a concoction of marshlands, while inland was peppered with a hundred isles, laden with various architectures.

“Think we can see his cock from here?” Robb’s voice came from behind Jon, where he was standing near the bow of the ship to see the shore coming in.

Jon turned his eyes from the sprawling land ahead to Robb approaching, then up toward the approaching Titan of Braavos - the massive granite, muscled man with one arm jut into the sky wielding a broken sword, and an armored skirt that they would pass under to enter the city. Snorting, Jon shook his head as Robb joined him at his side, a white cigarette stuck between his lips. Jon swore he had doubled his smoking intake since they had left White Harbor yesterday, undoubtedly nervous, but he showed no sign of it otherwise. “I’d be more surprised if someone actually took the time to carve one out.”

Blowing a puff of smoke out the side of his mouth opposing Jon, Robb hummed thoughtfully. “That would be a shame. Look at the size of those thighs.”

Jon quirked a smirk. “You sound envious.”

Robb hauled a punch to his bicep, but the padding absorbed most of its weight. The great shadow passed over them, and sure enough, Robb was inclined to see for himself beneath the carved stone skirt, only to make a sound of disgruntlement. Before either of them could comment on it, however, footsteps on deck had them both turning around, offering their standard greeting to General Seaworth.

“Lads,” Davos nodded to each of them, a parchment of some sort in his grasp. “We’re to meet with a Colonel...how in the hells do you say this?  _ H'ghar. _ ” The name came out as more a hacking sound from the General’s throat, and both Jon and Robb had to contain their childish urge to laugh. Davos shook his head and cleared his throat. “Anyway. He’s to give us a rundown of how many men from Braavos will be joining us. I believe most of the other forces have arrived, or will be in due time if the storms kept at bay.”

“Aye,” Jon said, “We’d heard the Vale ship had a rough go of it overnight.”

“Huh,” Davos guffawed, “the buffoons had four men tossed overboard, said the tide washed straight over the gallery.”

Gulping silently, Jon shifted from one foot to the other. The mere idea of being swept into the boundless sea, thousands of feet deep, made him sick to his stomach. “Were they able to pull them out?”

Rolling his eyes with a nod, Davos scanned the area as they drifted further into the city. “‘Course, but it set them back a couple of hours after search and rescue. Hopefully that water knocked some sense into their heads; can’t have such asinine logic once we’re on the battlefield.”

A grim fact - General was full of those. Davos was an infinitely kind man, often served as a father figure to Jon when the time called for it, but he had a history of a hot temper and the patience of an unfed shark.

Davos cleared his throat, and Jon and Robb stood gaping at him for a beat. “Well, I s’pose there’s no other way to approach this so…”

A small frown creased Jon’s brow, peeping a glance at Robb who mirrored the same expression.

“Congrats, lads. I'm currently standing before my newest wing commander and squadron leader," his squinted eyes looked between Jon and Robb, respectively, the only sound piercing the silence of shock being the slap of waves rushing up the side of the ship.

Holy.  _ Fuck. Wing commander? _ That would mean he all but surpassed a rank to be honored with such a promotion. That also meant he would be in command of Robb, who would be leading a flight secondary to Jon.

Since when did his dreams ever come true in such an orderly fashion? Since when was he even honored enough to be bestowed such a prestigious rank?

If not for the breeze and slight rock of the ship to keep him present, he thought he might collapse straight to his knees.

"Uh- oh-...wow," Robb tripped over his words, then flushed at doing so in front of their General, straightening his posture. "Thank you, General."

Davos smiled, and it took Jon a few decent breaths before he knew he could speak without crumbling. "Thank you, General. Although, I don't know what I've done to deserve such a privilege."

"Nonsense, Stark," Davos waved him off. Jon swallowed thickly. While Robb and his closest mates here knew about his little workaround, the General did not.  _ Stark _ was embroidered firmly to his chest, near over his heart like the tip of a knife just begging to puncture. When Dany had asked him why he told a handful of the guys, he explained to her that they had plenty of their own skeletons buried and stashed away deep within their own closets. He trusted them innately - Robb, with his life - but if ever there was concern for betrayal, they would all go down together. That, and those who heard him being addressed as ‘Snow’ simply accepted it as some moniker he had adopted when he spent time at Castle Black. "I need to put my best men forward, and I can't think of any two better to do so."

"We won't disappoint you," Robb promised, his toothy grin spread wide across his face as he and Davos shook firm hands.

Jon did the same, profoundly dumbfounded, and Robb shaking him at his shoulders was the only thing that brought him out of his stupor. " _ Holy shit! _ " Robb exclaimed with a muted volume, and Jon exhaled a deep breath of air that he had long been storing in his chest.

He couldn't help it, the smile that stretched his cheeks ear to ear, thumb and index squeezing the bridge of his nose between his eyes. "Fuck. This is insane."

Robb abandoned all pretense of decorum and pulled Jon in against him, a firm slap at his back. "I'm so fucking proud of you." 

Jon returned the gesture, eyes blinking rapidly against the disbelief of it all. "You too, brother. Don't act like squadron leader is any little thing. Time to put your big boy pants on," Jon assured him, hearing Robb's laugh behind him.

Hands cuffing Jon's shoulders, Robb held him out now. "You know that dad would be chuffed, right? And Aunt Lyanna. They loved you until their last breath."

Gods, now was not the time to get soft, but he was grateful for the shield of his sunglasses to disguise the dampening of his eyes. He could only nod for a while. "You, too. Not sure how Uncle Ned would feel about his only boys enlisting, though."

Robb tipped his head to the side in thought, releasing Jon's shoulders as they passed through the isles. "Proud. I'm talking, the type of proud dad that would stop every single person he passed on the street to the office, even though they probably couldn't give two shits."

Jon huffed a laugh and hiked the slung rifle to a different part of his shoulder. At least once they reached the safety of their base, they'd be free of all the added weight they were carrying. "You're probably right," he muttered, pausing for a few beats. "So, are you and Talisa a thing, then?"

Robb's lips twitched into a smile, bracing his arms against the lip of the bow in front of them. "We're sort of...playing wait-and-see. The interest is definitely there, but...loosely."

Quirking an eyebrow at him, Jon was going to press him, but he understood. It was a lot to ask of someone, to declare a relationship and then expect the other to be willing to be patient for some unknown length of time. To basically put their lives on hold, holding out hope, without any certainty of their future.

Jon was just lucky enough that he had someone who was selfless enough to do that for him. Because somehow, luck had begun to nip at his heels over the last few months. An unfamiliar, but welcome chain of events.

He smiled at the mere thought of her, knowing that within a few hours' time he would have access to a telephone. So long as phoning at such a distance worked, anyway. If not, he'd hunt down every damned phone in this scorching country until he found one that would behave. He'd only just seen her three days ago, after having gone without her company for six weeks, but it felt like it had been months. At least before, he had the ability to hear her voice nearly every night. 

He rubbed at the back of his neck and felt he'd never get used to his thick hair not lying there. It was the General's instruction that he do without some of the length, as it could potentially interfere with his helmet or the wind could blow it into his eyes. And, they couldn't afford a millisecond of hesitation once they were full force, so he begrudgingly agreed to trim it down.

"Looks good on you. Weird, but good," Robb said, his eyes fixed on Jon's hand. 

"Feels weird," he grumbled. He couldn't even remember the last time he had hair shorter than mid-neck length.

That thought was quickly tossed out to sea when their ship came to a halt at the port. General Seaworth could be heard at the other end of the deck, rallying up his crew, so he and Robb obediently followed suit. The ladder dropped onto a long, steel dock, the far end to their left flanked by five men in grey uniforms.

Behind their General, they filed a line and were introduced to Colonel H'Ghar (Davos must have practiced his name a thousand times, as the Braavosi Colonel did not pull a face once his name was said aloud) and a few of his chief commanders and lieutenants. Once the formalities were over, the Colonel led them through the portion of the city they would be bunking in until they would begin to set out for their first assignment.

It was a beautiful place. Interestingly, the further they went, the more it seemed to resemble a lovechild of the North and the capital. Cool muted tones of brick and stone, but dotted by grand structures and alleys.

After a general tour of where certain provisions could be found, The Colonel gathered them in a temple that they dubbed the House of Black and White. Inside, their heavy boots struck marble floors and cast an impressive echo off of each of the vaulted walls. It was eerily dark, the only source of light being the thin cutout windows that did little to reach their pathway.

"Not to worry," Colonel H'Ghar said, as if reading Jon's thoughts, "this room is a sacred place for prayer, but our people have cleared for us for the evening."

Davos seemed a little wary at that prospect, but mumbled something along the lines of the kind gesture.

A separate room far at the back of the temple, which was littered with floor-to-ceiling windows, was where they were meeting. An enormous rectangular table lay in the middle of the room. The theme of black and white marble continued throughout, playing an illusion on where the walls began and the floor ended.

Several chairs had been pushed off to the side along the walls, and a tan parchment of the map of Essos was spread neatly across the length of the table. Carved figurines representing each province as well as each branch lined the edge of the map.

When Jon tore his eyes up, the room was nearly full, wall-to-wall, Robb at his side. The General and the Colonel took their places at the head of the table and began general introductions, and suddenly the echo made sense. With as many people crowded in there, their voices would barely carry without it.

"Before we begin, I'd like to inform you that Braavos has secured ten thousand men to join the cause,” the Colonel bowed as the room erupted in cheer. Jon remained silent and attentive; while numbers were great, it was more the tactics that he was interested in. They could have five times the forces than the slavers, but none of that would matter if they weren’t smart about their approach. With genocide ravishing the country, they had to be extremely particular about preventing as much collateral damage as possible, and that meant human lives.

Colonel H’Ghar went on a bit more detail about how his men were divided, between infantrymen, airmen, and seamen. “The areas of highest concern are Mantarys and Yunkai, and everything that sits inbetween. However, our main focus needs to remain on Astapor, where we have located the Good Master Kraznys. Every city has a finger in the slave trade, but Kraznys has both hands in it. He wields dominion over each participating city, and is also the main source of their wealth.”

Jon listened intently, mind flitting between the information handed out to them and how aggressively they could end this thing. Colonel H’Ghar made a point to note that many of these slavers were under the ruling thumb of Kraznys, and only acted upon his orders out of fear of death. When they disobeyed said orders, they were slaughtered without question. Kraznys had his own following, and posted these men all throughout the country to keep his vile rule in the manner in which he saw fit.

In conclusion, they needed to reach Kraznys to dismantle the practice altogether. But Kraznys was no fool, however - he had been growing his own army since it became widely known that Westeros strongly rejected the act of slavery since it had been long outlawed across the Narrow Sea. Adding the murder of their own people only fueled hostility, and Kraznys’s numbers grew with it.

In total, between the forces of Westeros and the aid from all of the conjoining cities of Essos that were able, they were bordering two million strong, whilst it was theorized that Kraznys fell short of that by a quarter. Even still, Westeros held a battalion in waiting on Dragonstone Island as emergency backup should they require it.

Jon was more morbidly impressed by the fact that one man managed to accumulate an army nearly two times the size of King’s Landing’s populace, and one that was comparable to two joining continents. It was also utterly daunting, the power this Kraznys figure bestowed.

After a plan was thoroughly mapped out and countless questions were answered, they had their firearms locked away before they were shown their temporary living quarters, and instructed not to get too comfortable as they would depart at dawn to begin their way southeast toward Astapor.

The last thing Jon had expected was a hotel of sorts - or rather, private rooms. It was certainly appreciated, as this would be the final night not sleeping within any semblance of comfort. While they could take shelter in some of the smaller cities along the way, it would all depend on where the civilians stood on having them stationed there. Regardless, everyone would be sleeping with one eye open.

Jon closed the door and latched it behind him, scanning the small area briefly before sitting heavily on the plush bed and began to trifle through the rucksack he brought along so he could shower all of the last two day’s grime off of him. His hand paused on something soft yet solid, brow wrinkling as he wrapped his fingers around it and tugged it out of his bag.

Immediately, he grinned like an idiot.  _ Somehow _ , the plush dog he had won at the fair with Dany had snuck its way within the rest of his belongings. He shook his head fondly, placing it bedside while he pulled out a plain black t-shirt and cotton shorts.

The shower was glorious and left him feeling like he had just shed fifty layers of filth, but the moment he had been anticipating for over forty-eight hours was finally approaching. He towel-dried his hair and glanced down at his watch. He would be six hours ahead of Dany now, and at this hour of eight o’clock, she would still be at the hospital for another hour yet, so he decided to grab dinner first.

He and Robb met at a small pub just down the road from their housing quarters, where some of the other guys had accumulated as well. They grabbed two tables and put them together, earning odd looks from the locals - it was probably rather brash of them, truthfully - but they’d only be here for a short time. The menu was riddled with things Jon had never even heard of, and was grateful for the photos provided so that he could use that to determine the level of enjoyment he might get out of it.

His safest bet was roasted duck, since his stomach was accustomed to digesting other fowl, and he definitely didn’t wish to spend the night or tomorrow’s travels shitting his brains out in the event something unfamiliar didn’t agree with him. The rest of the guys ordered an array of unusual dishes, Tormund having settled on an assortment of seafood which made the lot of them want to wretch once it had arrived.

While they chatted here and there, there was a certain unsettling complacency shrouding all of them on the eve of departure. Since wine was the drink of choice on this side of the sea, all had risen their glasses in honor of tomorrow, and special celebration had been in order for Jon and Robb’s promotions, as per Grey. Only one drink, however, else General Seaworth would have their heads heaved into the lagoon should they show up sloshed with thick heads the next morning.

It felt good to laugh so carelessly, but he was beyond ready to have his phone time with Dany.

By the time they left, it had been just over an hour and a half. Jon bid Robb goodnight a few doors down from his room and secured his door before propping himself on the edge of the bed and grabbed the receiver, dialing Dany’s number that he had memorized by the third day he had ever called it.

He nibbled at his lip, anticipation making him almost giddy, but also the prospect of the line not connecting was enough to make him ill. He didn’t know when he would next be able to contact her; Braavos was a particularly wealthy city, but much of Essos was not. That, and he couldn’t very well park his plane and demand someone find a phone for him. Not that he wouldn’t, because there wasn’t anything he  _ wouldn’t _ do for her.

Luckily, after a few scratchy and then clear rings, the other side picked up.

“Jon?” Her breathless voice sounded in his ear, soothing every bit of tension he had been withholding.

He breathed a laugh. “Hello, darling. How did you know it was me?”

There was an odd clicking and shuffling sound before he heard a door close. “Sorry, trying to find one tiny corner of privacy in this damned cracker box,” she grumbled. Perhaps his broodish ways were rubbing off on her. “Anyway, you’re the only person who has my number besides the people I live with. At least, I hope so.”

Grinning widely, he propped up some pillows against the wall and sat against them. “How is it over there?”

“Ominously quiet. At the hospital, anyway,” she said. “It feels like the entire population of the capital left with you. In fact, I can walk to  _ and _ from work without people running straight into me.”

“Just don’t be walking home by yourself. You might pick up a less nicer version of me,” he chided gently.

“I almost never do. Plus, I’ve clearly yet to show you how deadly a pair of stilettos can be. You would never see it coming, so it’s a perfect weapon.”

“I believe you. In the eyes or cock should set them straight,” chuckling quietly along with her, his eyes fell on the stitched wolf near the end of the bed. “Thanks for my souvenir, by the way. I’ve been trying to think of a way to bring him with me tomorrow without General catching me first.”

“That one was from Ghost,” she said with innocence, “the other one is from me.”

Sitting up, he frowned. “Other one?”

He heard her sigh against the phone, then tisk at him playfully. “Jon Snow, do you ever change your underwear?”

It took him a moment to understand, stretching across the bed on his stomach and grappled for his bag before pulling it on with him. “I did earlier. Was that my gift from you?”

Dany giggled and shot him a stern  _ no _ before telling him to check the left bottom of the inner pocket beneath his packed clothes, to which he did until his fingers grazed something textured. When he retracted his hand, it was holding a silver chain with a small, square pendant hanging at the end.

“Open it,” she said softly, apparently taking his silence as a sign he had discovered her mysterious gift.

Shouldering the receiver against his ear, her pinched open the cover to reveal a black-and-white photo of Dany’s beautiful face, her bare shoulder facing the camera but her exquisite smile looking just off-lens slightly behind her. Her hair had been styled and curled, a dark lipstick painting her lips.

Puffing out a breath between his lips, he smiled warmly. “Gods, Dany. I could stare at you all day and never get over how beautiful you are.”

He heard her hum a sound of satisfaction. “Well, when you come home, we’ll make that happen.”

Those unwavering words of promise - and the underlayer of the meaning of them, of a permanent future together - made him equally hopeful as it did mournful. He made a sound of resignation as he thumbed over the tiny picture. "Think if I stare long enough, it'll bring you here?"

"I'm not far from the harbor, Jon Snow. Don't tempt me."

He groaned; the invitation was sitting right there on his tongue, despite the obvious impossibility. Propping up his knees, he wound the chain around one so that the locket lay open on his thigh.

"So tomorrow is the day, then?" She asked softly.

"Aye," he gruffed, clearing his throat. "Dany."

"Hm?"

Why was he so nervous? His fingers fidgeted with the silver chain, heart thrashing. "I was promoted to wing commander. So… I'll be leading these guys day by day."

"Oh!" She gasped. He could hear her smiling a continent away. "Well, that's amazing! I'm happy for you. Are you happy about it?"

"I think so," he said uncertainly, pinching the fabric of his shorts. "I think I'm still in shock, honestly. I don’t know what I did to earn it.”

“Have they seen you naked?”

Snorting, Jon sunk further into the bed. “No, but they might soon enough if the conditions call for it.”

There was another sound, and then Dany’s voice sounded a bit more muffled. “Hm. Have someone mail me a photograph when that happens.”

“I’m sure there will be an endless line of volunteers up for the task,” he laughed.

“Well, yes,” she stated matter-of-factly, “Just wait until that first eye-full. They’ll probably want their hands all over you, too. I’m first, though. And second, and third.”

“The only,” he smiled fondly, although his mind was immediately rewinding to just a few nights ago, and he found this a very inconvenient time to replay Dany’s naked body through his mind. A change in topic was desperately needed, per his cock. “Are you ready for all of this, Dany? Things are going to get brutal.”

“As ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose,” she replied. “I don’t think any amount of reading or the monotony of day-to-day experience can prepare you for the real thing.”

“Fair point. I hate the unknown.”

“I know,” she said agreeably. “I can tell you point-by-point how to clog a bleeding artery, but I’m scared that when it’s time to put it into practice…”

“You’ll do great,” he interjected firmly. “You’re going to save so many lives, Dany.”

She breathed a laugh. “And you, too. But neither of us can save everyone. We both have to remember that.”

Jon nodded; for some reason, that wasn’t a point he had even considered. That it wasn’t only up to him to carry the burden of the war, even if he was determined to do so until his very last breath if it came down to it.

“You think too loud, lieutenant. Or is it ‘commander’ now? That doesn’t have the same ring to it. The point is, you have a good heart, but please don’t do anything stupid.”

He crooked a smirk. “I’ll try not to. No promises, though.”

“Jon Snow, you promised you would return to me. That includes being on your best behavior.”

Every single damned time he dared to think of his life after the war, he felt nauseated. It felt like an impossible feat, and all he could do was hope that it wasn’t some looming, terrible omen, because he had every intention of returning to Westeros. Alive. “Aye, my love. That I did.”

A sigh of relief filled his ear, and he reached over to switch off his bedside lamp to shroud himself in the dark, slinging the locket over the alarm clock so that once he was startled awake by it, Dany’s face would be the first thing he would see.

“I’m holding you to it,” she stated lightly.

Jon worried his lip. Every passing minute was closer and closer to his fate, whatever that may be. A tranquil silence filled the thousands of miles of space between them. “Twelve hours,” he muttered, eyes fixed on the red numbers of the clock to his side.

“You should try to get some rest,” she offered, “I don’t expect flying whilst sleep deprived would go over well with General Seaworth.”

A small laugh vibrated his chest. Indeed, the longer he lay there with the lights off, the faster exhaustion was setting in. Even despite his mounting anxiety. His body seemed to just want to shut off, rather than fight it. But, even so, his hand gripped the phone handle harder, as if doing so would anchor Dany to him longer. “Probably. Dany,” he began, and she hummed her response, “I don’t know when I’ll be near a phone again.”

Her breaths were becoming more subdued and stippled, and he wondered if she was crying, but he couldn’t bring himself to ask. Especially because now, his own eyelashes dampened. “I’ll be waiting for you either way. I just don’t want to see you in one of these hospital beds.”

He smiled as best he could, pulling the phone away for a moment so that he could catch his breath. Pressing his eyes closed, warm tears trailed down his nose and cheek, returning the phone to his ear. “I love you, Dany. I need you to know that."

There it was: the most discreet of sobs, but she tried to hide it from him. "I know it. And I love you, too, Jon Snow. Let's do this thing so I can kiss you already."

He let out a watery laugh, while Dany mirrored a similar sound on the other end. "Alright, Dany. You've got yourself a deal."


	4. Beyond the Sea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, I was sad to hear of the passing of Very Lynn, whose song "We'll Meet Again" of course was the inspiration for the title of this fic and the general tone of it, as well. Her version as well as Sinatra's are a favorite of mine.
> 
> Second, here we goooooo!
> 
> This one is split between both Dany and Jon POV.  
> I think it's safe to say that chapter 5 will be published sooner rather than later (in other words, before a week passes), because things are about to go down and I'm way too impatient to get these out to you guys.
> 
> As always, many thanks again for reading and for all of your lovely feedback!! 💜

Everything was so... _still_ . Quiet. King's Landing was _never_ quiet.

For the first couple of weeks, anyway. Dany had complained about how the white, perfectly-tidied empty beds at King's Landing General Hospital were taunting them by their absence of patients on them.

As they were the largest hospital in the region, they had any non-war related cases all diverted to the smaller, surrounding hospitals. All of their twelve wings were transformed into units specifically for the eventual onslaught of wounded soldiers. Those who were critical would be stabilized in Essos and immediately flown directly to them, the mild wounded would remain in the care of the Braavosi hospitals.

Still, all of the hospitals in the central and eastern border of Westeros were waiting with baited breath for their first arrivals. It was the eerie calm before the storm that had Dany's stomach in knots.

"I hate this," Dany muttered as she stood with Missandei, Margaery, and Talisa on the seventh floor, peering out the picture window across the navy depths of Blackwater Bay for any sign of medic aircraft or ship. Their newest friend that they now never went without, the radio, was propped along the window ledge, in which they remained a constant state of anxiety between the radio silence and hour-by-hour updates it would spit out at them.

It had been a little over two weeks since the men moved forward to push their way through Essos. The same amount of time had passed since Dany last spoke with Jon, and while she expected it would be some time before she would be able to again (if at all), she never went without being a short run away from her home phone, and she hated the way her body jerked to attention each time one rang in the hospital. She had given Jon their number as well as the unit she would primarily be assigned to, so that in the event he couldn't reach her elsewhere, or, if the gods forbid it, an emergency happened...

Sleep was critical, but lacking now. She found herself waking in the night expecting Jon to be there, or a call away, despite only having spent one night together. Sometimes she thrashed awake with nightmares of him being grounded, crashing into the earth or the sea.

While her girlfriends had once been all too happy to give her grief over her new love, they had since done without it, and she wondered how desperate she must look despite her attempts to keep her stress at bay. Plus, with Talisa and Missandei sharing identical worries over Robb and Grey, it wouldn't bode well to take their situation lightly.

Dany missed Jon and worried for him so much, that it was seeping deep into her muscles.

"There! Look," Margaery exclaimed, turning the volume dial of the radio down just a hair.

Following her pointed index, their eyes landed on an incoming chopper, breaking up the haze of the sky. Without another word, the four of them scurried back to their wing, nearly colliding with Dr. Baratheon on the way. Several other nurses and surgeons filed in, which made Dany's stomach churn violently.

If surgeons were involved, then real battle had already begun.

Dany had to do everything in her willpower to not lose her head. Focus and a steady hand were required at all times. This was her job, her duty, and she owed it both to herself, and Jon, and every other poor soul who would be populating their beds to do what she was expected.

With a shuddering breath, she hurried across the vast floor, heels clicking furiously as she stored the radio away in one of the supply closets and returned to her friends. Missandei pulled her into a bear-tight hug before she could reach her station, and she absorbed the affection like her life depended on it.

"We've got this, Dany. One step at a time. One direction at a time. Ears open, clear head, every day until this is over, okay?" Missandei soothed, with such an air of confidence that Dany could almost make herself believe this was just a typical day for them.

Almost.

"Ladies, to your stations please," Dr. Baratheon ordered, waving over two other doctors and three surgeons. Each were assigned two nurses apiece. Missandei let Dany go with a kiss to her cheek.

"What should we expect, doctor?" Talisa asked from her post, strapping her apron about her slim waist.

Dr. Baratheon was panting just from crossing the room, and Dany half worried that he wouldn't be able to keep up once their patient load outnumbered the staff. "Two probable amputations, one severe abdominal laceration, and not confident on the fourth. The call was a bit fuzzy."

The next five minutes opened with chaos. Immediately, Dany wished for the silence over the screaming of these men in horrendous conditions. She felt a pang of guilt feeling a rush of relief that none of them were Jon, or any of those he was fond of.

_Focus. You wouldn't be here if you were not capable of the task._

With a deep breath, Dany fixed her eyes on the squirming man heaved into the bed below her. Dr. Qyburn, a grim fellow but one of their most awarded surgeons, and two other nurses surrounded him. Dany quickly scanned over him as his tattered and blood-stained uniform was fully removed and a modesty blanket draped over his hips.

The sudden smell of rot clogged her nose, to which she immediately practiced strict mouth breathing. The room was filled with horrendous sounds from wails to vomiting.

"Milk of the poppy," Dr. Qyburn requested, as calmly as if he were reading a novel and asking for his reading glasses. Dany had only just barely worked with this man previously, but always found his placid demeanor calming and necessary for the environment. The woman beside him injected the medication into his thigh, then labeled the paper chart beside her the dose and time of injection.

Dany held down the man’s arm still against the bed to steady him, then craned her head to find there had been very little left to the leg opposite the one he had been administered the medication. Amidst the glistening hues of blood coating his skin, it was nothing but a mottled mess of...she could hardly differentiate muscle from tissue, until Dr. Qyburn began to clean it off.

“Ssh, you’re going to be alright,” she soothed the man, whose eyes were white and wide and straining to focus on her. She was unable to properly identify him due to the shredding of his embroidered surname of his uniform. The second that the poppy seemed to be kicking in, and Dr. Qyburn began to disinfect the wound, she looked back down at him and forced a smile. He would be losing a leg today, but he didn’t need to know that now. It was likely he already knew, anyhow. “What’s your name?”

“H...H-H..Haw-” he quivered, and she only nodded patiently while she shuffled through the breast pocket of his discarded coat in the chair near his head, to retrieve his identity tag. Even if the medication was numbing him, she needed to get the minimal information, as well as keep him distracted from what was going on just under his nose. “Haw...Hawt-thorne.”

“Okay. Good,” Dany said, her voice forcibly bright despite the circumstances. She gave a nod to the nurse opposite her, who was documenting everything by hand. Dany highly doubted they would be able to keep up with that once they were overrun, but she would worry about that when the time came.

“Nurse Targaryen, can you lend me a hand?” Dr. Qyburn called. Lt. Hawthorne was almost laying still, so she was safe enough to relinquish her grip on him without fearing he would toss himself off the bed.

“Of course. What do you need?” She swallowed as she moved closer to the leg, eyes skimming over the tray of tools, large and small.

“Transfemoral amputation - he should be comfortably numb in another thirty seconds, and I’ll need you to dress the wound.”

Dany nodded, then returned to her former place near Lt. Hawthorne’s head as his eyes grew heavy. The dose wouldn’t be enough to guide him into unconsciousness, but it was enough to dull the worst of it, in addition the all of the dead nerves in his leg, anyhow. A sort of twilight phase, as it were. He would barely feel a thing until after the procedure and he was due for more medication.

She kept a hand on his chest, gently tapping her fingers there to keep him focused on that in his state of delirium while Dr. Qyburn made quick work of a clean cut. Lt. Hawthorne only winced, and relief blanketed Dany. Every once in a great while, as she had read in her studies, a patient was immune to nerve-blocking medications, and that would mean they would feel _every_ little manipulation.

Luckily, it wasn’t the case for now, and she prayed to the seven, if they still existed and were listening, that she never would. 

As soon as Dr. Qyburn gave her the all clear, she took to cleaning the aftermath while he went ahead to treat the additional wounds covering Lt. Hawthorne. 

It was completely inappropriate timing to wonder how green in the face Jon would be if he were to stand directly before the sight she was, but somehow that helped her stay nimble. With the help of another nurse providing her all of the necessary instruments, after twenty-or-so-minutes, the wound was secured with sutures, and he was in his state of twilight.

“Another hour and he’ll need another five milligrams,” Dany noted, then scurried off to thoroughly wash her hands.

When she came back, two more men were being carried in by their underarms, neither of them conscious. A streak of blood and grime painted the white marble floor until she and a few others were able to meet them halfway, hoisting their weight onto beds. A pair caught in an IED, and more victims were on the way, or what was left of them.

Third-degree burns on each of them, and embedded shrapnel. One lacking an arm, the other a few digits. The standard approach was executed with pain medication started as they tore away unnecessary clothing and cleansed them. Each had a pulse, but one was far weaker than the other as Dr. Baratheon began measures to jumpstart his heart. 

Dany assisted in the removal of debris from skin, stitching and monitoring their vitals in the process. If there was an upside to them not being aware of their surroundings, it was that they wouldn’t feel immediate pain, and wouldn’t be hearing the other soldiers in the room begging for their mothers.

Every second, Dany had to put proverbial blinders on, keeping her emotions in check when someone sobbed or throttled themselves trying to yell for the pain to stop. It seemed they had, indeed, found one whose body was resisting any pain modification measures, so Dr. Qyburn gathered liquid poppy with a grain of sweetsleep for his ingestion. It quieted him after some time, but he was still writhing, and Dany couldn’t bear it after so long.

“Daenerys,” Dr. Qyburn called, and she turned to find him a few beds over. “The salve, please.”

Nodding, she half-ran to one of the supply closets, quivering hands grabbing a mortar and pestle, and to one of the many refrigerators. Over the last several weeks of preparation, she had busied herself preparing a balm that Rhaegar had instructed her how to make, during his one and only visits home during the three-year war of the Trident. Dr. Qyburn was very open-minded when it came to medicinal developments and dabbling, and she had proposed the idea to him some time ago when a patient had been brought to them with a deep laceration from a midnight scuffle in the city. A knife had cut deep, and once it was numbed, they applied the antidote with triumphant success. It was meant to act as a substitute, or when necessary, a combination with other medicinal mechanisms, but without the body’s physical addiction.

The more they applied it, with some tweaks here and there, the stronger the success rate grew. Paired with modern medicine, healing time more than halved.

_“Laugh all you want, little sister, but when you’re desperate and writhing in pain without a medic...you’ll do just about anything for relief”, Rhaegar had told her. She had only just turned fourteen, and here he was, his only four days reprieve, crouched in one of the few forests miles from their home to show her how to blend a damned herbal balm. For what purpose, she couldn’t be sure, but it had been one of_ those _days. The kind in which Aerys Targaryen began hitting the bottle the minute his eyes opened, because some sort of business plan was going awry. He never let them in on the matters, but when Rhaegar was around, it was easy for Dany to block Aerys from her mind. Today was one of those days._

_“I’m not laughing at this, exactly, but...that,” she had pointed at his makeshift bowl and pulverizer, which was a large flat stone and a half of a snapped tree branch._

_Rhaegar had chuckled, a sound that was both so rare and cherished, as he mashed together the handfuls of herbs and such that he, also, made sure she took note of on their little adventure. “One doesn’t normally carry a mortar and pestle through the trenches.”_

_When he had finished his mixture, without flinching, he sought the sharpest rock he could find, and swiped it across the top of his hand. Dany had gasped an immediately launched forward, but he had gently kept her at arms’ length and told her to watch. “This is nothing, Dany. Just a little sting. Now, watch when I put this on it.”_

_She pressed her lips together, tucking her hair behind her ears and twirling it over her shoulder and leaned forward. Rhaegar set his bleeding hand between them, then slathered the balm over it. He hissed at first, making her flinch._

_For a beat, nothing happened, until it softened into a thin, wax-like texture and looked as though it molded right over the wound. A wrinkled creased Dany's brow, then she brought her eyes up to her brother, who looked entirely nonplussed._

_"Antifungal and antibacterial barrier. Seeps into the tissue, too, and cleanses it inside out," he explained patiently. Amazed, Dany smoothed the pad of her finger over it, and found him to be truthful. It didn't budge._

_"How did you figure this out?" She inquired, half expecting him to tug on her hair and tell her he was pulling her leg._

_Rhaegar lifted a shoulder. "Sometimes there's a lot of downtime between scouting. We're given an idea of what to avoid, so we don't poison ourselves, but then the rest is experimentation. Ginger root, chamomile, aloe vera."_

“Let’s work your magic, Rhaegar,” Dany murmured, collecting the dish and bringing it out to where Qyburn was treating some superficial face wounds. While he tended to those, Dany lathered the salve onto the man’s abdomen, careful to keep her pressure as light as she was able. With each application, he flinched, but his whimpers soon simmered down until he was nearly placid.

Dany's eyes swept the room once he was more comfortable, rushing over to help Missandei sit someone up so that she could help him get the rest of his undershirt off. On the bedside table were his chart notes, identification badge that all of them were required to keep tucked into their inner breast pocket, and dog tags. She scanned the notes and found that this one had some moderate head trauma, alongside various other wounds. He was conscious, but had difficulty holding his own weight.

"Thanks," Missandei said, the both of them easing him back down into the bed.

"Can I get you anything?" Dany asked, bringing a thin blanket up to the man's abdomen as he moaned in pain.

"Just a mild painkiller, I think. Until Dr. Baratheon looks him over."

Nodding, Dany went back into the supply closet to fetch a couple of white pills, taking the few seconds to collect her breath and reel her mind.

It was short-lived, as there was a shout and a commotion just on the other side of the door that someone was going into cardiac arrest.

This was only day one.

* * *

✈️👗💄🐺

* * *

When they had taken to the skies two weeks ago, they only had the first two nights without any obstruction. Now, the further they went, the thicker the combat came, and the lesser the rest. Jon often wondered when the fatigue would set it, because they were so on-alert and fueled by adrenaline and anticipation, that he had yet to be beaten with it. When rest came, it wasn’t understated when they were advised to sleep with one eye open. There was no deep slumber, no dreams, not even any nightmares, except the one they were living. It was always one of those sleeps where you were half out, but still could hear everything in your whereabouts.

At the end of the first week, they had been setting up trenches a little northwest of Volantis, when they were encroached by enemy fire. Patrols had only just been sent out to search and clear the surrounding area, but they hadn’t returned to the trenches quick enough, and it had been a blaze of bombs and gunfire alike. Several of their men suffered from terrible burns and loss of limbs.

Then, just a few nights ago, they took shelter in the mountains north of Mantarys, and they had been invaded by a patrol from Yunkai from the foothills. It had only been five of them, but Jon and company had been rid of them fairly quickly, since their brigade was eight times the size. At any rate, it proved to them that Astapor enemies had been sent that far west, so they would have to be cognizant of such when they needed somewhere to hunker down.

Thus far, they had taken temporary residence in small villages across the plains. Allies to the cause, many of the elders insisted on feeding them, putt-putting when they assured them that their food rations would suffice. One woman even went as far as to promptly swat the dried food packet straight out of Robb’s hands, but then patted his cheek as she hobbled to the kitchens.

That had been in Pentos. It made Jon long for Dany more than ever, not that he hadn’t already had her on his mind around the clock. Street merchants had tents pitched, despite the ongoing war. They were an ally of Westeros and provided their own army, as well, but seemed unbothered by the distant vibrations of warfare, stating that those sounds were as expected as bird calls.

Jon had scoped out some of the merchants curiously, to determine what would be a fit gift to bring home to Dany. Because that’s what he promised, and in his imagination, this solidified that more. Things kept getting practically thrown into his face - anything from the likes of hand-crafted jewelry, to fancy styles of clothing, and even baked goods and accessories that might prove to be useful on the road.

In the end, he had settled on a couple of things. A black-face watch with silver details and a charcoal grey leather band for himself, a boar bristle hair brush whose wooden paddle and handle were intricately carved with ornate dragon designs - the woman had insisted on it the moment Jon told her Dany’s family originated from Essos, claiming that those with hair of silver required the highest quality bristles. Jon didn’t argue; even if he wanted to, the seller had a fire in her eyes that told him she might murder him in his half-state of sleep if he didn’t. And, lastly, as he bit back a cheeky grin, a sheer silk night dress. It was blush pink, with a deep tapered V-neck, sleeves that were capped with lace at the elbows, and where the hem ended above the knee. He chuckled to himself - for one, it was so damn thin that he wondered what the point of wearing it was at all, though he supposed that was the point, since all he could picture was Dany’s naked body beneath it, and that stirred him just enough to indulge. And second, he was likely to earn a slap to his chest or his ass, depending on Dany’s response, once he presented it to her, especially given the cold climate of the north. At least, that’s where he imagined her wearing it.

Pentos had been their first reprieve, followed by some vast grassy fields just east of Dagger Lake. There, they stocked their bellies full of the crystalline water for hydration, in the hopes that they wouldn’t get ill later on. Depending on location, the nights were cooler. Much cooler. Jon’s skin felt as though it shriveled at the drastic change, and it didn’t help that his uniform was strictly black. As much as he loved the color, he would wring the neck of whomever thought it wise to stick them in the worst possible color in the middle of mostly-desert land. At least the higher elevations provided some relief, as well, but the ground was _sweltering._

Dagger Lake had been their most peaceful night since they had left Braavos. Breathtaking, actually. Zero light pollution, and everyone had been mostly too exhausted to strike up conversation, save for himself and Robb. The grass grew so long here, in its natural state, that it was nearly taller than Jon. Naturally, Robb had made a passing joke about how that wasn’t exactly a hard feat, even for inanimate objects.

They had been resting against a large boulder, the gently-flowing lake a couple of yards behind them. Jon had never seen skies so clear, save for Winterfell, but even then, it looked as though someone had taken buckets and buckets of stars and threw them into Essosi skies. The deep, navy blue was freckled with them, not a gap in sight. Various insects sung around them, the soft shuffles of some of the men finding camp...all of it would have been enough to sleep an entire day if they had been rooted in a different environment.

“You’re going to marry that girl, right?” Robb had mumbled abruptly. Even with his voice barely above a whisper, it still startled Jon. Or maybe it was the actual question, as he tilted his head over to consider his brother.

“What?” He asked dumbly, almost wondering if perhaps Robb had fallen asleep and was talking through it.

“Dany,” he confirmed, his eyes fixed on the sky now.

Jon blinked, suddenly feeling terribly restless. “I...haven’t thought that far ahead, I guess. You know how it is, with this,” he swept his hand vaguely over their surroundings. “Plus, we’ve only been together, physically, two times. Not sure that constitutes enough for a proposal.”

“Fuck all of that,” Robb replied firmly, the slightest uptick of his mouth rising. Jon’s brow lifted in response. “If there’s a woman out there who can make _you_ smile like _that_ , I’d tell you to marry her without even meeting her first.”

Jon pressed his lips together, slowly laying his head back again and looking toward the cloudless sky, but only seeing Dany. “Still. It’s too premature to think about the future.”

“Well,” Robb continued, shifting so that he was sitting less upright, “true as that may be, it’s good to have something to look forward to. Otherwise you’re going back to an empty slate.”

“And what about you and Talisa?” Jon returned, closing his eyes. He didn’t _want_ to carry that sort of optimism with him, for fear he would just disappoint himself. Giving her an oath of his return had been enough, and even then, as much as he meant it, doubt lingered. How could it not?

Robb sighed. “That’s different. We met the night before I left.”

“Dany said she’s pretty hung up on you,” Jon said. He could hear Robb’s head roll to look at him, curiosity piqued. “Don’t look at me like that. Only I’m allowed self-degradation.”

Snorting, Robb threw a lazy punch into Jon’s arm, where it lay nestled over a rifle. He smiled. “I’m a hypocrite, then, because my intentions are just as yours. Pretty much suspended until after this is over,” Robb said.

Subconsciously, Jon reached for the silver chain at his neck, loosening it until the locket freed. He opened it, his smile a mind of its own the moment his eyes found Dany’s beaming face. Even in the dark, he could make out her every feature, but that was just Dany: she _could_ light up a room.

“So fucking soft, you are, good gods,” Robb chortled with a shake of his head.

A snort erupted from Jon, tucking the jewelry safely within the confines of his chest. “Fuck off,” he growled good-naturedly.

  
  


Once they began crossing the territory of the Dothraki Sea, they appeared to have discovered the threshold of Astapor’s forces. There had been plenty of combat earlier on, but they were progressing into the meat of it.

"There's one on your left flank," Robb spoke into Jon's earpiece, some unknown yards away in the shroud of cloud cover. “Maybe three yards back.”

Jon led Robb’s squadron behind him, and they had split in pairings for a little game of chase about ten miles over the northwestern border of Meereen. 

Jon banked right, the weight of gravity pulling his tags and Dany's necklace around his neck to a sharp ninety degree angle. “Dropping thirty degrees,” Jon announced, dipping just so, and then made a tight circle back around until he was behind the Dothraki opposition. Jon pressed his teeth together, hands gripping the control stick. “C'mere, you fuck,” he growled, activating the gunfire once he was aligned with the enemy's tail. The ceaseless thrum of ammunition firing clogged Jon's ears, tailing the aircraft in front of him until the satisfaction of a plume of black smoke trailed in front of him. He let up, watching as the plane fell weightless from the sky.

"Nice shot, commander," Grey's voice came. "Enemy aircraft is grounded and burning."

Before Jon could open his mouth, he was pulling the control shift until he was perpendicular to the earth below, ascending from a squadron of six Dothraki fighters that had materialized directly in front of him. Other than his shallow breathing, he could faintly make out drums of gunfire somewhere behind him.

"I need backup," Jon pitched, leveling his plane, eyes fixed on the radar on the console. Six green dots were riding him closer than he was comfortable with, so he needed to get creative until he had help.

He sunk below cloud level, waiting until the others were descending, and brought himself back up again.

"Are you fuckin' them around, Snow?" Grey's voice buzzed, clear amusement coating his tone.

Jon smirked, but it was short-lived when the distinct sound of bullets rang out behind him. Pivoting, he listened as a bullet ricocheted off his right wing. "Not anymore. This one called my bluff."

Increasing his speed, the others had split off to match up with Robb's squadron while Jon continued into a dogfight with the one behind him. A mere decrease in speed and his Dothraki opponent would end them both. Jaw set, he dove diagonally down until he pierced through the clouds and the vast green of the Dothraki Sea fell into view, but he merely gained barely a foot. This one was good.

"Increasing to four-hundred knots," Jon spoke into his radio. "Taking him through the mountains."

"Coming up from the south," Robb buzzed in, a thrill in his voice. "Up for some chicken?"

Jon grinned, jerking left when fire rained behind him, but skimmed the air below his right wing. "Meet you there."

With a straight path, Jon narrowed his eyes slightly as the mountain peaks fell into view once the wisps of clouds cleared. With one quick analysis, he decided where, precisely, his aim would be. Just off beyond the caps he could make out Robb's plane.

"Sharp right," Jon instructed, and within seconds, they were aligned nose-to-nose until they each thrust their aircrafts right, each of them sideways between two peaks while the pilot tailing Jon slammed into the middle and was dissolved into nothing but flames and debris.

Robb was cackling in his ear, a satisfied smile dancing on Jon's face. Slowly, he allowed himself to exhale, receiving word that the skies were now clear of any enemy forces.

"Let's scan a radius of five miles before we make camp," Jon said, receiving a humdrum of multiple agreeable responses. By now it was nearing past sunset, and Jon's legs were tiring from being seated for so many hours.

All was clear on land, but as they were readying to ground, General Seaworth shredded their ears by trying to break radio, making them all wince. “General?” Jon tried to call, receiving nothing but static and deafening high-pitch frequency until Davos’s voice finally broke through.

“W-...C-...Co-...T-...atta-”

“Fuck,” Jon muttered, fiddling with some of the buttons to get a location on where General was.

“Holy shit,” Robb said sharply, making Jon look up just in time to find, off in the vast ocean west of the Smoking Sea, three of their ships were aflame.

Jon sucked in a breath; he would need to fuel up soon, but it wouldn’t be safe to land on a carrier right now. He needed to keep his head on straight and draw an immediate plan as well as something long term should he have to land somewhere.

“General?” Jon called again, realigning the squadron into formation behind him as they met just below cloud level.

“I-...he-”

His eyes fell on six incoming warships that were not theirs. Destroyers. “Where the fuck is the rest of our fleet?” Jon exclaimed, to no one in particular, receiving an overwhelming amount of voices in his ears.

It didn’t matter, because wherever they were, they were too far off to take any sort of action. 

“I’m getting word that they’ve been overrun just around the bend,” Robb yelled, sending Jon’s mind reeling. “On the coast, too, with Giantsbane.”

“Right,” he breathed, eyes fixed on the back smoke ahead, trailing up at the incoming warships. “Robb, take six with you and see if you can hold off the coast. The rest of us need to deflect what we can here. General Seaworth is down there,” he said wearily, wondering if General was even alive at this point. One of the ships was already halfway submerged as Robb took his squadron out, and Jon brought the rest of them in a tight form behind him.

Exhaling a breath, flying over waters as blue as Dany’s eyes, they took to the cloak of the clouds while he gave the command to prepare missile fire. After operating some buttons, a hatch behind and below him opened.

“Deploy at four thousand feet,” Jon said, his voice abnormally calm as they made themselves open to enemy eyes.

They sunk lower and lower, through the tops of the smog of their own ships, and at four thousand feet on the nose, they dropped a deluge of aerial bombs onto the ships, the steel of the plane quivering in its wake as they pulled up and rounded about to inspect their work.

Success. Even if they wouldn’t be sunk soon, it was evident that they were crippled enough that they wouldn’t be able to engage further. Returning over land, Jon inspected their losses, and called for immediate assistance.

“Fuck,” Robb replied, “Greyjoy, take a crew to the bay; General was on the destroyer.”

“Noted,” Theon said.

“I need to refuel,” Jon said numbly, hyper aware of the fact that not only were they being attacked just over the western coast where he was headed, but the closest carrier was below water. He wouldn’t have enough to make it out, and there was no way in hells he was going to risk so over sea.

“Next carrier is two miles out,” Robb affirmed.

They had to keep most of them at a distance to prevent exactly what had happened just moments ago, and Jon had to wonder why the fuck General had strayed without informing them. The only reasoning he could conjure was that he hoped to anchor near the coast, but they still hadn’t completely scouted that particular area yet.

Additionally, Robb and his squadron were now amidst a battle of their own, and by the sounds of it, from voices and background noise interjecting into his ears, it was getting heavy. “I’m going to land,” Jon said as his plane began to choke and throttle.

“Don’t do anything fucking stupid!” Robb yelled while Jon hastily made preparations, “Don’t fucking land, Jon! Keep it at four-hundred-and-fifty knots and you’ll make it!”

Jon grit his teeth, sweat beading along his face, shaking his head despite his lack of audience. “No; I’ll be too short.”

A plethora of shouts and grievances flooded his head as he banked slightly, toward an open grassy field. As far as he could see, he would be alone, but the camouflage of the tall grass was deceiving. Still, he leveled, using all of his willpower and knowledge in trying to land this thing as smoothly as he could.

It was rough and jarring, his hand white-knuckled and brain rattling against his skull until, finally, after what felt like far too long, he came to a halt, his ears ringing in the abrupt silence. The only sound was the whining of the plane and the engine shutting off, and his own stuttered breaths. With deft hands he unbuckled himself, needing to move at lightning speed in the event he was ambushed, and opened the container in the middle of the plane where he stored his firearms. He slung his rifle over his back, two pistols and two daggers at his waist. His rucksack also boasted a handful of grenades, which he had to be careful to not get in the way of enemy fire, unless he wanted to detonate himself.

Before he went to exit, he reached for his radio. “Grounded. Alone, so far. Heading southwest now.” He didn’t allow any feedback through as he ditched the speaker and freed his rifle from his back, slowly peeling open the door and peeking his head out to examine his surroundings. Other than slight creaking from the plane, it was only the gusts in the grass that spoke to him.

He kept himself crouched low, stopping every few steps to keep an ear open for any other movement. Sweat percolated his skin, wiping his brow along his arm as he crept along. The stretch felt like it would never end, and he had to stop himself from second-guessing whether or not he had begun going in the wrong direction. He used the barrel of the rifle to part open the greenery that was closed in on him, coming to a halt when he heard voices somewhere up ahead, to his left.

He dared not even breathe, eyes widening and focused. It was a language he did not recognize. Dothraki. The language barrier did him no favors in determining their motives, but he could almost be certain they spotted him coming down, especially in such an unoccupied territory.

With each movement from them, he chanced another step, to conceal himself. Whatever they were saying, it was clear they were passionate about it. Jon pressed his eyes closed for a moment, trying to calculate how many he might be up against, and which weapon might prove the most useful. Glancing down toward his feet, he slowly descended and collected a sturdy rock in his hand, and with one swift throw from his crouched position, pitched it as far out in front of him as he could manage. He didn’t hear it strike, but evidently the others did, a brusque shout chased by footsteps.

Only, the footsteps were approaching _him_.

Heart pounding, eyes white, he propped up his rifle, taking measured steps backward. The biggest challenge was that the tall grass gave way to little space, and within moments, it was filled with several men. There were too many for him to immediately count as he fired, raining bullets with a sweep of his arm and bringing three to their knees.

Someone grabbed him from behind - he couldn’t be sure whether he had been surrounded, or if they had snaked around him - pulling him backward, while two in front of him wielded deadly-looking curved blades, with pistols at their hips.

He thrust his head backward with a shout, knocking the base of his skull into the face behind him until his shoulders were released. With his left hand, he withdrew a pistol, and got one shot through the abdomen of the right man, while the left thrust his blade straight in front of Jon’s face. He ducked backward, nearly stumbling over the writhing body below and behind his feet. His adrenaline was coursing through him at such a rapid pace, he hadn’t realized any contact had been made until blood from his brow began to graze down his face, drabbling in the corner of his eye.

Another two shots rang out, only this time he felt the bullets wedge into his thigh, clamping his teeth down onto his lip and putting all of his weight onto the opposite leg when he almost buckled. Lifting his arm, he fired three shots into the left man, his blade dropping haphazardly to the ground.

And then there were voices just abroad the brush, voices that he recognized, and a small relief filled him, but he was not done here yet. The man he had headbutted crawled onto his knees, but Jon put an end to him before he could get any further. His leg ached, and he could feel the pulse of hot blood seeping through the fabric. When he tucked the pistol back into his belt and took aim with his rifle again, Tormund’s voice demanded for him to duck. Without question, he did as much, wrapping his arms over his head as he balled up in a crouched position and the air was littered with gunfire.

He couldn’t be sure how much time had passed; it felt both like seconds and hours in equal measure through the pain, but someone tugged on his arm to get him upright. When he looked up, prepared to fight, he was relieved to find Tormund, who took up most of Jon’s weight when he heaved his arm around his brutish shoulders.

Without question, he hobbled along with him, Tormund pausing to shoot at an incoming offender. Finally, they reached a clearing, where Grey, Theon, and countless more of their brigade had taken over the ambush. Still bodies were strewn across the ground, but Jon didn’t see any sigil that he recognized, save for one.

Tormund gave a nod to Grey. “You and Theon bring that one back to the ship, with the General. Tell them to go straight to Volantis so a chopper can get them back to the capital.”

The capital. Gods, how it felt a lifetime ago he had just been there. Had just been wrapped up in nothing but bliss with Dany. If he had half a mind to rebel, and thus imprisoned for the rest of his life, he thought he might exaggerate his injuries so that he might ask to go with them, to be with her once more. He wanted to wonder how she was fairing, but his mind was growing hazy, his body limp.

“Crow! Stay awake, you bloody idiot,” Tormund growled, hiking Jon’s weight up further as a half attempt to shake him conscious.

Somehow, he managed to do so, but everything passed in a blur. Part of that was a red blurry smear, from the blood dripping into his eye.

“Is everyone safe?” He mumbled, only somewhat aware of his body being lowered into some plush grass, and a medic or two instantly hovering above him.

“Some infantrymen bit it, but otherwise we cleared the area.”

There was a wet, warm cloth over his face, several dabs at his brow before it stung hotter than the Essosi sun. He pressed his jaw, trying not to strain the wound by clamping his eyes closed tighter. More hands grappled at his pant leg, removing his boot. “And General Seaworth?”

"Pretty beaten up. Keeps fighting the medics even through a missing eyeball. Tough fucker, that one."

He was being turned onto his side, breath hitched when hands tended to his thigh.

"Here, commander," a medic passed him a torn cloth. "This is going to hurt for a bit "

Nodding, Jon bunched it up and gnashed his teeth onto it, clamping down so hard his veins swelled in his neck when something warm and hard dug into the wound to remove the lodged bullets; he saw white, skin flourishing with heat and sweat.

"One more."

This one felt deeper and took longer to maneuver, and Jon was groaning hard into the cloth, chest tightening and fists clenched tight against the material of his uniform. Another medic was over him at a moment's notice, giving him some relief by placing a cool, wet rag over his head. When his arm was peeled away from where he held himself, he opened his eyes to find they were trying to inject a syrette of milk of the poppy, but he quickly ripped his arm away.

"No," he grit out, his abdomen clenching as an instrument was pushed deeper, someone holding him still. "Can't have that and fly," he managed groggily.

Tormund materialized in front of him and knelt within his vision. "You won't be doing any flying for a while yet, little crow. You need rest."

As much as Jon tried to fight it, there was a small prick in his arm, and he couldn't be sure if he fell unconscious from the medication, or from pain and exhaustion.


	5. This I Promise You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one week? What is this?! Tonight this one is solely Dany's POV - I was going to add Jon's in here, but felt like this one deserved to be a stand-alone. You'll see what I mean.
> 
> Featuring: Dadvos, and wholesome ride-or-die Missandei of Naath.
> 
> Chapter title is definitely the song by *Nsync, if you were wondering 😎  
> Enjoy and have a lovely and safe weekend!

A revolving door. A nightmare. That's what King's Landing General Hospital became.

And even so, Dany had to wonder what it was like for the hospitals in Essos. They were nearly overrun here, having to get creative in terms of bedding as more and more poured in through their doors. What were the conditions for those on the homeland of battle?

"You really should go home and rest, Dany," came a voice, and she couldn't be sure if someone actually spoke them to her, or if it was her mind.

Rest. What was rest, really? An intriguing thought, albeit one that made her salivate with the need to finally do so. Except that the moment she closed her eyes and crossed over into slumber, it only brought on more horrors, ones that were magnified and uncontrollable in a state of sleep. The wails and screams and men calling their mother's names haunted her dreams, as did the burned images of every possible type of wound and infection she could only suspect one might encounter over the lifetime of a career. All of which had come before her in just over two month's time.

She thought of Jon. She thought of him the most, even when fatigue tried to cripple her. The first thing when she opened her eyes each morning that she did manage some sleep, amidst the hectic days, longingly into the night. Sometimes she felt the hope she still carried for him was the only thing that got her through most weeks. Mournfully, she gave up any chance at communication with him once word came through that they had officially entered enemy territory.

Their military had made progress ahead of schedule, but they were paying the price. Dany couldn't be sure if it was best to drag these things out in the event that meant saving more lives in their armies, or to dive in headfirst and claim victory despite it.

And being so divided by time and distance did nothing to soothe her worries. By the time they received any crumb of news, it was already days old.

Meanwhile, so many people had been trying to persuade Dany to indulge in this long-forgotten activity called rest, to the point that now it was easy to deflect them. Because these men needed every able and capable body, and there was no time to waste.

There was constant death. Even with the acceleration of transportation via helicopter from Essos to Westeros, people were dying at horrifying rates. There were so many of them, that it became easy to presume Essosi hospitals had to be completely infiltrated to be sending critical cases their way. The ones who required immediate attention were meant to be stabilized across the Narrow Sea first. That was the plan. But, Dany concluded, war did not often abide by plans.

During the day, Dany was constantly on high alert, the first instinct to confirm that none of those faces coming in belonged to Jon. Following that was an immeasurable amount of guilt when she felt relief that it wasn't. All of the hospital staff were in a perpetual state of stress and anxiety, but in a way they numbed to the shock of it all after the first week.

At present, Dany was busying herself by slathering a healing salve over the wounds of the men who were finally relaxed. One of them had been brought in about four weeks past, and the name of General Davos Seaworth didn't escape her. He had lost an eye, had severe third degree burns, and a multitude of other lacerations, having been trapped on deck when the Dothraki ships besieged their own and it set fire.

He had been brought to them sedated, having found some semblance of strength to try and fight off the medics, and Dany had to pull herself together once he woke so as to not bombard him with questions. All of them pertaining to Jon. It would be rather discourteous when he was having to remain in a drugged state to ward off the pain, to inquire about another. But if the General was wounded, that had to have meant Jon wasn't far behind. 

It was a horror. All of it. Most days, Dany seemed to do her job thoroughly, but she felt she was floating along more than being truly present. She followed directions from doctors and surgeons alike, and darted between beds to aid the other nurses where needed. Since sleep was almost nonexistent, she volunteered her time overnight, which was sometimes a little more peaceful. It felt more like babysitting on call for when anyone woke up with a need for something. While the other staff came in and out, Dany remained an almost permanent fixture to the hospital. In fact, most of them didn't blink when they came in to their next shift only to find she still hadn't gone home yet. Missandei had tried to keep up with her, lovely human as she was, but Dany insisted she go home once she was able. One sleep-deprived nurse was quite enough. 

The only time Dany did allow herself to part from the building was to shower and change her clothes, but otherwise she always packed whatever food was quickest to bring back with her. She couldn't deny that even the polluted, warm air of the city was a balm to her soul. In the trek to and from, she could feel her muscles loosen ever so slightly, but then they constricted once she set foot back into the ward.

And between all of that, she was always careful to not allow herself walk alone, per Jon's wishes.

"Better?" She asked the infantryman she had been tending to, when he had woken in small whimpers. Now, as the salve seeped into the tissue and numbed his nerves, he nodded, quietly thanking her.

“Good. Let me know if you need anything else; I’ll be just around the corner." After thoroughly washing her hands with hot water and soap, it was time to check on General Seaworth. 

Once she found him awake, she offered Davos a small smile. It was a little after midnight, and he was due for his next round of antibiotics through his I.V. As she made preparations for it, he cleared his throat, trying to sit up, but she gently ushered him back down. “You don’t want to aggravate your progress, General. You’re healing nicely,” she said softly, her voice low so as to not disturb those who had managed to secure some rest.

An eye patch had been placed over his missing eye, where Dr. Baratheon had cleansed and sewn it shut the day that he arrived. By now, it was mostly healed, but he preferred to leave the patch where it was, finding some humor in noting that it made him feel a bit like a pirate. And, that was quite fitting, given he had just come off a ship.

“If I don’t move soon, you might have to scrape me off of this bed,” he said.

She chuckled lightly, starting his drip. “I’ll make you a deal. Let’s check to see how well your stomach is fairing, and if it’s alright by doctor, I _may_ have a lever that I can prop you up a bit.”

“You’re an angel,” he croaked, voice dry from sleep.

Lifting the garment he had been dressed in, but keeping the thin blanket over his waist down to preserve his modesty, she slowly, gently, uncovered the wrapping around his burns. About just over half of his abdominal area had been affected. She provided some support to lift his back so that she could remove and then re-dress the wounds. 

He watched her with clear curiosity. She smiled. “It looks _really_ good. Much better. Let me go find...whoever is on right now, I honestly have no idea,” she whispered conspiratorially, and she was happy to hear him laugh, as weak as it was.

As it happened, it was Dr. Melisandre on for the night. Generally, she took the night shifts. An odd presence, but she was good at her craft. After the all-clear, Dany was able to maneuver Davos’s bed so that he bent a little at the waist, sitting up but still laying back. 

“I’ll tell ya one thing,” he said after groaning with contentment, “I’ll never take anything for granted ever again, after this.”

“Cheers to that, General,” she conceded, taking a medicated cloth and softly dabbing at his healing wound. She was a bit surprised that he was healing so rapidly, since he was of an older age and generally skin didn’t regenerate as quickly, but he was right on par with the younger men.

“Daenerys,” he said then, voice low. Her head lifted to see him; maybe it was the exhaustion, but she couldn’t remember ever giving her his name. He made a face that appeared to read her thoughts. “I remember you from the send-odd party in Winterfell. Plus, Jon has been so bloody upside down about you; it would be impossible for me not to have caught your name.”

The grin that spread across her face felt so foreign, because the last person who had made her do so _was_ Jon. She continued to dab the soothing towelette over his skin.

“Ah, look at ya,” Davos smirked, and her cheeks turned hot, “you two found love at just the right time.”

She blinked, trying to not get too distracted. “Did we? Sometimes I wonder. If we should have done things differently, if…,” she shook her head, unsure what it was she wanted to say, because there was no way in hells she would have wished differently. But, fear and silence loomed like a heavy thundercloud in her mind.

Brows raising, he drew in a breath. “Oh, fuck the ‘ifs’,” he practically growled, and if Dany had not become even slightly accustomed to northern mannerisms, she may have been astonished by his curtness. Actually, it was quite humorous that he didn’t even flinch, as most would have. She appreciated it all the same. "There’s a poem, by someone whose name leaves me, but… my favorite bit is, ‘what if I fall? Oh, but my darling, what if you fly?’”

Almost mindlessly, she re-dressed his stomach with new gauze wrap while she mulled over his words. Maybe she _did_ need to lay down, if not to clear away the pestering, negative thoughts swirling in her head. Pulling the gown back over him, she looked up to find him watching her, a twinkle in his eye. “Are you married, General?”

“I am, strangely,” he said dryly, his head ticking to a slight cock as if genuinely pondering that fact. Dany pressed her lips together in a tight smile, pulling over a chair to sit beside his bed once she concluded she wasn’t needed elsewhere. “With seven boys. Men, now, I suppose.”

Brows raising, Dany folded her hands in her lap. “Wow. And you still love each other? After so many children?”

A bark of a laugh erupted from him then, and Dany threw her hand over her mouth to mute her own laugh before they woke anyone. Some of the other nurses glanced their way, probably wondering what in the seven hells could possibly be funny at a time like this. “Gods, I think I fell in love more after each one was born. How could you not, watching your wife create life right in front of you? Us men only have to do the fun part.”

Despite her efforts, she giggled, dipping her head to muffle it. “That’s the truth of it, I suppose.” It was no wonder why Jon liked this man so much - laying here, bed-bound, body blanketed with burns that ate down to the bone, and half of his vision gone, yet cracking jokes. Barely had he even complained, even when there was a small delay getting medication to him.

“You must be worried sick over Jon,” he noted suddenly, his voice nothing but a soft murmur now.

Just the sound of his name falling from someone else’s mouth was enough to make tears well in her eyes, but she set her jaw in an attempt to keep them at bay, only nodding in response.

"Well, by decree I'm not allowed to provide any details on the goings-on, but," he paused, shifting a little. No doubt his back and butt were aching. She'd have to turn him soon, to prevent bed sores. "The poppy is _quite_ a tricky drug, hm?" He winked at her, and then she understood.

"That it is, General. But I also don't want to risk getting you into any trouble," she said, her voice weak with the hope that he wouldn't reconsider.

Davos swatted the air. "Nonsense. If I have your word, there's nothing to worry over."

She nodded fervently, even before he finished his sentence.

"We were ambushed by Dothraki forces," he started, already her hesitant smile faltering and acid burning her insides. "Last I knew, we were on top of things," he assured. A long breath deflated her lungs. "In fact, we were bringing some of our fleet in; the area had seemed clear of any threat, but they were well hidden, the bastards. Your commander and his squadron sunk the Dothraki ships. Had any of them been a second too late, I'd be crispy bait for the sharks. He saved my life."

An embarrassing grin painted Dany's face, feeling impossibly lighter, though the discomfort of her belly remained. "So he's alive, then," she breathed, more to herself than him.

"As far as I knew when they manhandled me to the chopper, yes," he smiled warmly.

Dany pressed her eyes closed, practicing steadying breaths. In through the nose, out through the mouth.

“Jon is loyal to the bone, if you couldn’t tell already,” Davos smirked coyly. “He’s sensitive and soft-hearted, in the depths of that brooding demeanor of his. But rational, and genuinely kind. But when he wants something, there isn’t much that could stand in the way to stop him. And if there is, he’ll find a way around it.”

Dany was latching onto every word, hoping they could just sit here for hours and she could learn more about Jon’s life before they met. Especially coming from someone who knew him so intimately - more than even herself. “Mm. I feel that the brooding is quite sexy. Always looking like he’s having a serious debate with himself about something when half the time he’s probably just wondering where he put his keys.”

A loud, wet cackle erupted from Davos, and she dipper her chin down to her chest to snort, despite the sneers they were receiving.

“Best not to tell him that,” Davos winked, still coming down from his chortle.

They fell into a tranquil silence, but Dany found that the silence is when her mind screamed the loudest.

"Are you quite alright? Forgive me, but you look a little peaked," he noted, and when she opened her eyes, she smiled as best she could.

"I haven't seen much sun in weeks," she explained, to which he appeared to have accepted. She could feel the exhaustion in her body. Her eyes, each morning, required quite a bit of care with makeup to hide the purpling circles and swells. When she thought of it, she would ice them at night. Her skeleton felt heavy. The area between her temples felt full, and weighted.

"Well, as General, it's my job to give orders. May I order you to take a day or two off? I'm sure I could convince these guys to allow it," he nodded vaguely to the room, by way of suggesting her bosses.

Dany laughed despite herself. "Actually, they've tried to no end. There's no time nor the staff to be short a person most days. Truly," she insisted when he shot her a doubtful scowl. "It doesn't seem fair that I have the privilege to go home to the comfort of a home while these men are suffering and dying.”

“If Jon knew you were wearing yourself down to the bone, he’d fly himself straight here and carry you home himself,” he noted sternly, and suddenly she felt as if she were having a conversation with a father than a very important, and well-respected, military general.

She chuckled softly. “Yes. I’m afraid he would.”

They sat in silence for a couple of minutes again, Dany taking in the calm of the atmosphere. This was the least hectic it had been the entire time; to the point that her mind wanted to play tricks on her and make her anticipate an outburst at any moment.

“Go on,” Davos urged quietly, “there’s plenty of capable hands on deck. Nobody knows how long this war will last, and if you wish to serve your part to the best of your ability, it won’t do you any good to burn out.”

_We can’t save everyone_. That’s what she had told Jon the night before he left, and here she was, contradicting her own words. She sighed longly, her brain telling her to go, but her body not moving save for the disturbance in her gut. Guilt. That’s all she could feel anymore. She almost wish she hadn't approved Jon's paperwork if just to selfishly keep him in the safety of their own little bubble, but she would never have forgiven herself.

A warm hand on her knuckles brought her from her daze; she had begun to gape at no particular point of the room. When she followed the arm up to Davos’s kind eyes, he tilted his chin downward with a nod. “ _Go_.”

Before she could find another excuse to anchor herself to her chair, she smiled gratefully at Davos, squeezing his hand before she scurried off to inform Dr. Melisandre that she would be taking the night, and following day, off. 

* * *

✈️👗💄🐺

* * *

It was nearly two-thirty a.m. Dany had been in such a state of brutal fatigue that she had reached the exit doors to the hospital on her own. So, she had waited the extra twenty minutes until Missandei would be free, and together they began their walk home.

“First thing I’m going to do,” Missandei began pointedly, “is take the quickest shower possible, and then I’m going to mandate a rule that you must _not_ , under any circumstances, leaves your bedroom until you have properly slept. Like, deep R.E.M, passed the hell out kind of sleep.”

Dany wrapped her arms around herself. It was odd how her lower abdominal area still continued to reel, even after a few minutes of outside air. She had thought spending all of her time in the stale presence of infection, battered bodies and crying men had been the cause.

"Dany? Are you feeling okay?"

With a flutter deep in her belly, Dany slowed to a stop. "Actually, can we make a quick stop?"

"Er...now? Nobody is open," Missandei said, eyeing her friend warily.

"There's a little drug store in Cobbler's Square that's open all night. Let's go there." Dany walked in a half daze, as if she were on the outside looking in. Missandei followed in companionable silence, but Dany could feel her slight wariness of what she was up to.

The store was blessedly deserted, the bland smell of the products on the stands rooting deep into her nose, while it wasn't something she ever took notice to before. She made a bee-line straight for the desired aisle, pausing once she found what she needed, and Missandei's sharp gasp made her flinch.

She looked over at her friend, and hadn't realized her eyes had pooled with tears until she noticed Missandei was a blurry blob. Immediately her arms wrapped around Dany, soothing hands warming her frigid back.

"Oh, honey. I'm here. It's okay," she murmured while Dany fought hard to not blubber too loudly, stomach clenching to prevent it.

An attendant walked by, though Dany could only hear the footsteps, a confused question on whether they needed help, and Missandei shaking her head.

After Dany caught her breath, Missandei reached into her purse and handed her a tissue, croaking a thanks before she dabbed at her eyes and nose. "I...I' ve had two positives already."

Missandei's brows slanted, amber eyes widening but quickly relaxing. "What? When did you take them?"

Dany stared at the familiar pregnancy boxes taunting her on the shelves, bundling the tissue tight in her fist. "The first one was four weeks ago, and then a second three weeks ago, or somewhere around there," she sniffed, "but I'd had a little blood, just a few drops, and I figured it was just stress that has been keeping my cycle away. But…," she exhaled a shaky breath while Missandei patiently listened. "I don't know. I'm having all of these signs and symptoms now, and how could two tests be wrong? I just want to...do one more, since some time has passed. I just don't know, Missi, I don't know if this is something I should want-"

A shuffling of boxes falling heavy to the floor in the aisle behind them made them both turn, and Missandei scowled at the employee who they could see between the divider. 

In one swift motion, Missandei grabbed two tests and linked her arm with Dany's, hushing her when Dany protested and that she could very well buy them. A minute after they got to the register, the attendant followed. They stood in silence, until the girl, who had to have been no older than seventeen, addressed them while she scanned the items.

"You know, a baby isn't a plaything," she muttered.

Dany blinked, exchanging a look with Missandei before returning her attention on the teenager. "I'm sorry?"

The girl scanned the second box and bagged it. "You said you don't want it. It didn't ask to be born."

At once, Dany's mouth fell open, temper flaring, but Missandei was there first. "Listen here, you little _trollop_ !" She snatched up the bags. “You’ve picked the _wrong_ day and the _wrong_ person - between the day I’ve had, and you spewing your foul mouth all over _my best friend_ -” Missandei flung a coin at the girl for every word she enunciated, leaving Dany ogling with her mouth agape, “-you can take this and _shove it up your ass!_ ”  
  
Dany was stunned in place, watching as she flung one of the test boxes across the counter, and then she was being half dragged out of there. Missandei stopped. "Wait here," she commanded, her tone not yet waned from her outburst.

Dany tried to call her back, but her companion was stomping back to the cashier, who was busy crouched to the floor to collect the coins scattered about. Dany watched, worried they may end up spending the night in a jail cell, but Missandei grabbed a handful of candy bars at the counter and stuffed them in the plastic bag with one final dirty look at the young lady.

Again, Missandei collected Dany like mother to toddler, and pushed their way back outside. Once the air hit them, they both erupted into fitfulls of giggles until their abdominal muscles ached and they were bent at the waist, tears streaming down their cheeks.

"I didn't know you had it in you!" Dany squeaked, laughing breathlessly, her cheeks aching.

All Missandei could manage was to shake her head, mouthing something with no audible words, waving her hand by way of telling Dany to hold on.

They probably looked like a couple of drunk lost women, stumbling down the sidewalk on their way home, pausing every so often when they finally collected themselves only to completely lose it again.

"Anyway," Missandei gasped, making an 'o' shape with her lips and pushing a steadying breath outward. "I got some candy for when you get inevitable cravings."

They were already approaching the door to their flat. Dany stared at her best friend with so much admiration - perhaps it was her hormones - that she thought she might cry again.

"No, you may not have one now," Missandei giggled at Dany's watery eyes, locking the door behind them. "The only thing you're allowed to do is sleep. I will put a lock on your door if I must."

"I love you and hate you all at once," Dany needled, slipping off her coat and hanging her purse. Then, she gave Missandei one more squeeze. "Thanks for everything, Dei. I mean it when I say I wouldn't get through this - _any_ of it- without you."

"Love you back. You know that I'm completely obsessed with you, in the healthiest of ways," she hummed a laugh. "And next time someone makes a horrific comment like that again, they'll be eating my fist."

They laughed together before Dany shuffled to her bedroom. When the bathroom in her room fell into her peripheral, however, she felt that a nice warm soak might do her some good. It was nearing three in the morning already, anyhow. What was another half hour? With two days off in a row, she could sleep them both off, if she'd lime. 

She emptied a cup of lavender bath salts to the warm water once the tub was filles, lit a few small votive candles and placed them in the corners of the tub, and balled up her soiled clothing into a pile in the hamper.

If she hadn’t been feeling utterly knackered, she may have laughed at how romantic the set-up felt, despite it only being herself. She closed her eyes, the comforting heat of the water prickling her skin as if it were absorbing straight into the marrow of her bones.

She laid her hand to her lower belly, where it had yet to grow, and all she saw behind her closed eyes was Jon. Would he be pleased? Did he want children? All she could picture was his blinding, beautiful smile.

Dany did not put much stock in prophecies or fate and the like, but somehow, despite all of her fears, all of the terror and the dread, the blossoming seed in her womb sprouted something warm in her heart. Like a good omen. Like Jon’s promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 👶🏻👶🏻👶🏻  
> P.S. I don't know if any of you would have caught the easter egg I kinda threw in here: Kit Harington did a cute little skit with Toothless (from How To Train Your Dragon) where he says: "Toothless, do I come across as too broody? Because half the time, I'm just trying to figure out where I left my keys."
> 
> So, I gave that exact line to Dany here 😂
> 
> Here's the video if you're interested; it's adorable: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pXCpc2Bcirs
> 
> P.P.S: Credit for Davos' poem recitation is an actual poem by Erin Hanson.


	6. My Way Home Is Through You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Round 6, ding ding ding! Get your snacks ready 'cause this baby is just over 9,500 words. We begin with a different POV and then it's all Jonno after that. 
> 
> Chapter title inspired by the song 'My Way Home Is Through You' by my favorite band and favorite loves in the entire world, My Chemical Romance (and hell yes to their reunion, but damn covid from making them postpone their reunion tour, hnnnng!!)
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

****

**The Citadel, Oldtown**

"Mr. Wolkan. Mr. Wolkan! Here he is."

Sam could hardly meet the eyes of his boss, but did so all the same. Because he was about to be in deep shit. And so was Jon. All because of his cursed inability to lie under pressure.

"Mr. Wolkan," he stammered, awkwardly greeting him with somewhat of a head bow.

"Tarly," Mr. Wolkan practically spat his name, voice reverberating down the length of the cold marble hall. "You've been avoiding my calls, and been absent from your office, so we had to take certain measures to obtain your word."

It was true. Mr. Wolkan sent one of his subordinates, Mr. Pycell, to do his dirty work, cornering Sam when he tried to slither away for his lunch break and losing his appetite in the process. Mr. Pycell invaded all of his personal space then, holding him hostage by the collar of his dress shirt, breath so rancid that of his threats didn't make him buckle, that would have on its own. For weeks, Sam had managed to evade his boss's summonings. He knew there would be consequences, and he could only run so far for so long. He just needed to buy enough time, until he knew that Jon had crossed the Narrow Sea and was too deep into Essos that it would be impossible for authorities to retrieve him. Sam would deal with the aftermath, as he intended to fall on his own sword, anyhow. There would be no way he would allow Jon to face maximum consequence, with as much sway as he could possess, anyway.

Pycelle threatened both Sam's career and wellbeing if he didn't confess that he had something to do with a particular record of interest. The Citadel received Jon's military paperwork from King's Landing - to which Sam had privately praised his friend for being able to cheat the system completely - but when it came time to file it, there was no Jon Stark to be found.

This was only discovered when the Citadel exhausted all of their options to investigate within their direct means - after recording the name of the woman who had finalized and authorized the forms - but then they turned their attention internally to search for whomever tampered with government documents.

When Pycell had trapped him in the hall, Sam felt like that same twelve-year-old boy again, piddling his pants against the bullies smacking the life out of him, and it was ironic given his deed for Jon was in recompense for warding off the tough guys in school for him, and thus owing him a lifetime of gratitude. If it weren't for Jon, Sam was pretty certain he wouldn't have made it out of school alive.

"Right. Let's get this over with, then," Mr. Wolkan commanded, throwing his arm out in the direction of Sam's office.

Strangely, Sam didn't feel quite as queasy as he would have expected to, given what he was up against. The only sound, other than his own breaths, were the heels of their shoes, creating almost a daunting rhythm of suits on parade. He was a little on edge, true, but knowing Jon wasn’t in any immediate danger of being summoned put some ease in his gut.

When he pushed open his office door, his eyes instantly fell on the heavy steel safe sitting atop his cherry wood desk. Rage boiled under his skin, promptly coating his face red. Without rationalizing his mind, and knowing full well he would soon be canned anyway, he whirled on both men. "You can't bloody raid my office without my consent!"

"Step down, Tarly," Mr. Wolkan growled, swatting the air. " _ I  _ employ  _ you _ , therefor my superiority overrides yours. Now, we've scoured the place from corner to corner, had every single associate inspected  _ and _ paid extra hours to search for this damned record. And, mind you, all at a great expense to the government."

Sam's eyes burned as he stared, unblinking, at the two old dinosaurs standing before him. It wasn't rational for him to be upset over his tinkering with Jon's record, but he did still retain the right to the privacy of his own space.

"Open the bloody safe before I do it myself," Mr. Wolkan snarled at Sam's lack of action.

With one foreboding look at the black cube, Sam withdrew the tiny key from his pocket and unlocked it.

"Now, step back."

He did as much, watching with trepidation as Wolkan withdrew a birth certificate for one Jon Snow, as well as the documentation that proved his illegitimacy.

"Oh, dear. Tarly, Tarly, Tarly," Wolkan mocked with a tisk of his tongue, Pycelle sneering behind him. "Never would have expected _ you _ of all people to commit fraud and forgery alike. You realize that there was no possibility this would have gone unnoticed forever, correct? Or are you that much of a dolt to think that far ahead?"

_ Of course I knew it would. The whole point was to get Jon too far into Essos that he couldn’t be physically discharged. _

Ashamed and angry, Sam squeezed his fist into a ball, digging his nails into his palm to prevent himself from swinging it straight into Wolkan's face. "It isn't bloody right to deny someone the right to defend their country based on their parent's actions. It's entirely nonsensical."

"It's a  _ privilege _ , not a right, to fight for one's country. And as it appears, Jon  _ Snow _ has abused this privilege by breaking the law with your help," Wolkan's volume raised with each word, sending Sam into mental submission despite his attempt to stay strong. His boss then turned toward Pycelle. "Get a location on the Targaryen woman, and the moment Snow sets foot on Westerosi land, make sure he’s arrested promptly. That is, if he makes it home alive.”

“Don’t bring Jon down in this -  _ he _ is the one keeping us alive right now. Take me instead,” Sam commanded, but his quivering voice was making him look a fool.

“Oh, no worries on that score, Tarly. You’ll both be going down together. Snow knew what he was doing just as well as you. As of today, you are on permanent suspension without pay,” Wolkan said, heading towards the door. “Expect a summons for a hearing for court martial. Be on your way.”

Both men left Sam standing there, a sweaty mess and throat tight. He would take the fall for this as much as he could manage, but now he had to hope that their recklessness wasn’t enough to strip Jon of the life he was just beginning to know.

* * *

✈️👗💄🐺

* * *

  
Poker became their new favorite way to pass the time when they actually  _ had _ time to pass. It was also a distraction for Jon against the throbbing of his thigh, which was finally waning since the week prior when he had been shot. Evidently, he had been mucked up more than he had originally thought, a few healing slashes on his face, and various ones along his body. His adrenaline had kicked in on high when he had been ambushed after landing his plane, and he hadn’t felt much during the attack besides the gunshots.

Luckily, his plane suffered very minimal damage - a chip on the wing during the dogfight, shallow bullet holes, some cosmetic scratches from the landing, but otherwise she was refueled and ready to go. The only thing was, since General Seaworth was out of commission, they were taking orders from Tormund for the time being - and he was not letting Jon into a plane until he was fully capable of walking without so much as a gimp.

As much as Jon absolutely loathed being grounded, he did have to admit that exercising it while they trudged their way southeast seemed to be kickstarting the healing process. At first, it felt an impossible task. Every nuance of pressure shot through his entire body with each step, but he had to grin and bear it, because he refused to be responsible for slowing them down. Every once in a while, he would accept extra support when his body fatigued, but that was as far as it went.

“Royal flush,” Jon called as he casually tossed his hand of cards on the stone slab between himself and the guys.

Tormund grumbled. Jon quirked an eyebrow in his direction.

“Don’t give me those twinkle eyes,” Tormund scolded good-naturedly. With a hefty growl, he thrust a pointed finger in Jon’s face, and Jon smirked satisfactorily. “You play this while you eat, sleep, and fuck?” He then swept his giant hand in the direction of the heaping pile of Jon’s winnings, which really, were just a mishmosh of edible treats, various coins, and random trinkets that had been collected along the way.

“No, it’s because three hours of it has it burned into my retinas,” Jon said, rubbing them as he spoke.

“Cut him some slack,” Robb said out of one side of his mouth, plucking the remnants of his cigarette from his lips before putting it out, “he’s gotta save up for his wedding. That’s a start.”

Jon playfully rolled his eyes, as Theon piped in. “With the way you’ve been moaning her name at night, I’d sure as hell hope you’d marry her,” he chided with a girlish giggle, which was quickly aborted when Jon reached across their makeshift table and knocked him square off his ass, sending him rolling down the shallow hill.

The rest of them subdued their cackles, while Jon’s face ran hot. To his digression, whenever he was given any dose of the poppy for his pain, even a pin drop, he had begun to have...well...downright filthy (mind-boggling) dreams in which he and Dany were engaged in some brow-raising positions. Those were the only nights he had slept soundlessly, and the last after his experience. Obviously, had he not been surrounded by his companions, he wouldn’t have minded one bit. Theon and company actually did  _ not _ know the context of said dreams, but Theon being Theon, only drew from his own suspicions.

At least his dignity was reserved by the thickness of his uniform by morning when he would wake up, frustratingly rock hard.

But gods, he had only had her the one night, and even several rounds together had made him ache for her by the time he had left her grasp. It felt like decades had passed since then, and what he would give to absorb the warmth of her, to hear the sweetness of her laugh, to have many, many more days in which they could just be, without the weight of the world on their shoulders.

And, it wouldn’t hurt to completely lose himself in her, too, but he needed his mind to behave before he found himself in another precarious position.

“Alright, boys, let’s move,” Tormund made a gesture with his hand that meant for them to gather up their things and make headway. By dawn, Jon and his crew would be entering Yunkai territory - by air first, to get a feel for what they were up against and to map out where civilians resided, then they would be moving in on ground. Somewhere inbetween, their navy fleet would surround the ports of Astapor.

But first, they made a rest stop in a tiny village so miniscule, Jon was relatively certain it could not even be found on a map. It was made up of around thirty cow-skin tents that were built by the natives themselves, with various piles of perfectly-constructed fire pits spread evenly between each tent. There were elders, adults, and children alike, the children rushing up to greet them once they crossed their territory.

Most of them spoke in several different languages; Jon could vaguely pick up some Dothraki and Low Valyrian, all thanks to Dany having shared some of that knowledge with him after (and during, albeit those words were  _ not _ the ones spoken to him now) some particularly salacious activities. He couldn’t help but grin at the greedy little hands reaching up at them, some of the parent figures hurrying over to reclaim their children, but Jon was quick to reassure them that they had done nothing wrong.

One particular little girl caught his eye, however. Her hands were hidden behind her back and she stood just off-center from the crowd, but there was evident curiosity in her amber eyes. Jon approached her slowly so as to not startle her, then made a show of screwing up his face in confusion, squatting down onto one knee. He could see a dusting of pink brushing over her golden cheeks, but she never backed away. “Do you speak the common tongue, miss?”

She pursed her lips together tightly, trying to suppress a smile, and gave him a nod, her tiny braid over her shoulder sliding to behind her back. Before he could speak any further, he carefully disarmed himself, laying his bag aside and placing all of his weapons behind it.

“Kezra has no fear, sir,” a woman’s voice came, as she stepped behind the small girl and looked down at him with kind eyes. “She has seen more war in nine years than you will in your lifetime.”

Jon blinked, heart plummeting to his feet. Kezra seemed unfazed, twisting left to right slightly on her feet. That would explain why she didn’t shy away from his, what he would have assumed to be, disconcerting silhouette, what with the slightly bulky uniforms, baggage, and array of weaponry. In the cities further west, those children had been much less - if ever - exposed to any notion of warfare, and they were instructed to always approach favorably so that they knew they were a friendly crowd.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Jon replied earnestly, a creeping chill sidling up his spine at the thought that Krazanys was not opposed to enslaving someone her age. “Kezra? That’s a pretty name.”

Kezra retreated slightly, still able to avoid that near-face-splitting grin, wrapping her arm around her mother’s leg while her cheeks reddened further. Jon smiled warmly, looking over his shoulder as Robb approached. “Hey. Come on, I’ve been told these little rugrats are unstoppable in football.”

Jon turned back to Kezra and pushed to his feet, playfully narrowing his eyes at her. “Is that true?”

Kezra nodded, her stoicism chipping away, her mother giggling.

“Alright, well, I’m pretty old and I haven’t played since I was as small as you, so I think you might have to give me some pointers,” he told her seriously, and finally, she flashes a brilliant, toothy, ear-to-ear grin. Her mother gave her a small nudge.

“Brilliant. Show me how it’s done.”

Kezra took hold of his hand willingly and nearly dragged him across the sandy premises.  


* * *

✈️👗💄🐺

* * *

Not only had Kezra more than proved her skill, but Robb’s account of the children’s gameplay was not unfounded. Currently, Jon laid sprawled out on the ground on his back, so sweaty that he may as well have just dunked himself into a river. Over the span of two hours, with fifteen against fifteen, the children won thirty-two to three. And, one of those scores won by Tormund was only because he had gone a bit haywire and heaved the ball far and away over the children’s goalie’s head, which only earned him a  _ very _ stern lecture from the young boy of eight.

After that, Tormund promised he would behave and follow the rules, but follow as they might, it would have been just as useful to just stand in place and not waste their energy.

Kezra had been her team’s captain, and rightfully so. Jon didn’t expect such a shy creature to be able to command a rally of mostly boys the way that she did, but she didn’t take any shit. She took the game as seriously as breathing. She made Tormund look like an absolute doormat. Jon had made a passing comment that perhaps  _ she _ should be awarded the recognition as their new general, but that only earned him a swift shoulder punch.

Which was another bad move, since Kezra was a witness to his playful assault, and she put herself between the two men and admonished Tormund in front of every person present. She made it known that Jon was her very nice friend, and that she wouldn’t tolerate  _ any _ poor sportsmanship from either side. At the very least, her enthusiasm was admirable.

Where Jon lay now, his fly suit half unzipped to let some air seep into his sand shirt beneath it, Kezra approached him with a cheerful smile, crossing her arms while she gaped down at him.

“Yes, ma’am?” He was half afraid she was going to make him go for another round, but he felt as though his bones had dissolved and become one with the sand.

“Where’s my prize?” Her small voice inquired, a foot adjoining her request into his sore ribs. He grunted, with a little more force than was necessary.

He arched an eyebrow at her. “That’s very presumptuous of you. I think  _ I _ deserve a prize for rendering me completely useless. Now I can’t fly my airplane.”

She humored him with a proud smirk, then preceded to sit  _ heavily _ on his stomach, forcing a loud grunt of air from his lungs. “I can fly it for you.”

He went to laugh, but the weight of her, and his overall soreness on his abdomen was suppressing any muscles to work at all. “Can you? Good. There’s someone waiting for me back home, so I’ll let her know I’ll be home early.”

Kezra burst into a giggling fit, then shifted to rest on her knees beside him. “You have a  _ girl _ friend?”

Jon blew a raspberry through his lips, rolling his eyes humorously, matching her childlike lilt. “Maybe.”

Nibbling at her lip, Kezra moved further down to lay on her stomach, elbows resting in the grains of sand with her face propped in her hands. He couldn’t help but to chuckle; she had that look of someone who wanted to grill him on his love interest, and he had seen it so many times over the past several months that it was easy to anticipate. “What does she look like?”

_ Like nothing else I will ever see in even ten lifetimes, and thereafter. Drop-dead, cardiac-arresting gorgeous.  _

His eyes drifted upward toward the sky, trying to refrain from smiling  _ too _ hard. He jut his chin upward toward the sky, which was now a kaleidoscope of warm blues and purples as the sun had begun to sleep. He pointed up at the quarter moon, and her honey eyes followed. “Her hair looks like that. Have you ever seen the ocean?”

Nodding enthusiastically, she was enamored still by the color of Dany’s hair. “Those are her eyes. She actually used to live in Pentos.”

Kezra’s grin widened impossible further, clearly excited over an outsider having somewhat of a relation to her people. “What is her name?”

“Daenerys Targaryen,” he smiled fondly, trying his damndest to not think of Daenerys Targaryen too much, else he would have to excuse himself. He thought of her often, every single second of every single day, but sometimes he found himself unexpectedly overcome with how much he ached to see her again, and he would come up with some excuse (typically being to find somewhere to relieve his bladder), and then he would have a small moment in private to feel sorry for himself.

Kezra gasped with such vigor it nearly made him jump out of his skin. "Did you know Targaryens used to have dragons _?" _

"Well-," he drawled, but she was two steps ahead of his impending denial.

"No; they  _ did _ , Jon! Even Daenerys will tell you!"

Jon continued to give her a hard time, completely denying her retelling of ancient Targaryen history until she was red in the face and shaking him by his shoulders once he sat up from where he lay. It took all of his strength not to cave and laugh, but she easily called his bluff by sassily insisting that if he " _ actually _ paid attention" (no less than she deserved) then he could pass on this wealth of information to his "pretty girlfriend" (true) who would then "smother him in kisses" (to which he conceded immediately).

When he opened his mouth to speak, one of the elder women clamored a bell for the lot of them to gather around for a small feast of salt-crusted herring, honey sausage, and a couple of figs. The portions weren't grand by any means, given that this was a tiny village and while camping provisions had been previously agreed upon, it was everything to Jon and the others that these little hidden areas of respite and their people continued to dote on their wellbeing. Each time they stopped in one, and they assured the villagers that they were well-off on sustenance, they were quickly shot down (and essentially told to shut their mouths, as kindly as that was possible), and they were proud to display their hard-cooked meals for everyone to enjoy.

Jon sat in a circle around one of the campfires with Robb, Tormund, Grey, and Theon, and Kezra to his right. She appeared more interested in observing their reactions to the food, and Jon had to discreetly kick Tormund's foot when he went to grumble over the size of his share. These families weren't wealthy by any means, and certainly Jon and his companions were not entitled to such hospitality, and it was clear that an abundance of care had gone into catching the fish (amidst impending war), hauling it inland, hunting for the meat (in such vast land that Jon wondered where they found the pork source), and Jon hasn't seen a fig tree in miles.

"Do you like it?" Kezra asked Jon privately; she still hadn't quite warmed up to the other guys enough to socialize with them, aside from annihilating them in football earlier.

"Mm," Jon nodded enthusiastically. "Delicious."

Kezra smiled at that, folding her legs at her side. "My mother and grandmother cook for all twenty-eight of us. The fathers, brothers, and grandfathers do all of the hunting and foraging."

"I see," Jon replied, setting his empty dish down at his feet. "And what do  _ you _ do?"

"Eat it, of course!" She said as if it were the simplest answer in the world.

Laughing, Jon reached for his backpack and inside the insulated pocket, pulling out a bar of candy, handing it over to her. "Don't tell your mother I've given you this before bed time."

With a puzzled look, she took it and turned it to examine the strange wrapping. "What is it?"

"Chocolate," Jon said conspiratorially.

"Choc...lit?" She tested, her brows working so devotedly to understand that Jon couldn't help but to find it a striking similarity to Dany when she was deep in thought.

"Aye. Choc-o-late," he smiled patiently.

"Aye?"

Jon snorted. "Aye. Aye."

Kezra wrinkled her nose and then promptly tore open the wrapping, bringing it up to her nose for a smell. She didn't say another word nor give him any inclination on her opinion before she nibbled off a small piece, Jon watching her with great amusement.

Without pause, she beamed bright as the sun, from ear to ear as her taste buds became newly acclimated. "This is the best thing I've _ ever _ had."

He was stunned to see that tears had welled in her eyes, and he was just as struck at how easily these tiny mass-produced treasures were all too often taken for granted. Before long, a congregation of the children swarmed them, amd Kezra broke off little squares to share while the other guys rummaged through their packs to see what all they could distribute.

Jon watched with earnest fascination at all of the various reactions - most of them found their ready-to-eat food rations extraordinary strange, but not altogether unpleasant. The least popular option, easily, was the packaged vegetables, which resembled a flattened square of orange. Truthfully, it was pretty deplorable where taste was concerned, but Jon had learned to just down it whilst plugging his nose to avoid the taste. Anything to fill the belly.

Nightfall came over them soon enough, and Kezra had bid Jon ‘happy dreams’ with a hug around his middle, to which Theon was later most keen on coughing for Jon that he most  _ certainly _ would have  _ very _ happy dreams about Dany again. Robb jerked Theon by his ear and promised him that if he could manage to not speak for the rest of their journey, he would pay for him to spend a day in a brothel just to resolve his obvious unresolved sexual appetite. It seemed it was all Theon Greyjoy could think about, like a broken clock on repeat.

Sleep came easily that night for the first time in a long time, though it helped that Jon wasn’t taking the first night shift patrol. Even in these areas of amity, their guard always had to be present, and though Jon slept, it was never not with an arm draped over his rifle.

* * *

✈️👗💄🐺

* * *

Nary five minutes after the sun had risen over the horizon, Jon was shaken awake - he couldn’t recall the last time that ever had to be done. Their departure proved to be far more mournful than Jon would have expected - the few hours of peace that he had found here had done him well, and it only made him feel more rejuvenated to make that a permanent fixture to Essos. As he shrugged his backpack on and got himself situated, there was a small tug at the strap, and he turned to see Kezra, still in her off-pink night gown and hair frizzy and astray from sleep. 

Smiling warmly, he crouched to her eye-level. She withdrew her arms that had been tucked behind her back, and he realized once she opened her hands that she had not slept at all, but had spent the night carving a miniature wooden dragon from one of the campfire logs. He suddenly felt overcome with emotion, firmly biting the inside of his cheek as he took it gently from her and grinned at the clear effort to perfect it. Without a word, he pulled her into an embrace, sucking in a deep breath of humid air.

“It’s beautiful, Kezra. Thank you,” he muttered.

“It’s for Daenerys. Tell her that I told you so.”

Jon barked a laugh, brows raised as he held her outward to see her proper, but her face was alight with humor. “I’ll definitely do that. I promise, if you swear that you’ll keep the boys here in line, okay?”

Kezra nodded avidly.

“Oh, and, guess what?”

“What?” She enthused, dark eyebrows accentuating her curiosity.

“There’s a port not too far from here,” Jon said, “and I happen to know that Braavos brings food shipments there. What would you say if I sent you a whole box of chocolates?”

Bouncing on her feet, Kezra squealed, then looped her slim arms around Jon’s neck so tight he could feel partial air loss. “Oh, yes! Please, please, please!”

She pulled away, a glint of excitement painting her face. “Alright, it’ll be one of the first things I do when I get home.”

With one final hug and some prodding from Tormund, they bid their final farewells.

* * *

✈️👗💄🐺

* * *

The more progress they made, the more persistent Jon's nerves frayed. They were quickly approaching the heart of the slave trade, the seat of Kraznys. They were either going to swiftly end this war very soon, or this was the snake's pit. Jon had a looming feeling that it was the latter.

Over the past few months, they had seen their fair share of battle. They barely could go twenty-four hours without some sort of ambush or other attack, often for hours on end, but a terrible feeling dwelled in his belly. He couldn't quite place it, other than that he had expected a lot more conflict than they had gotten.

But, as they closed in on the outer border of Yunkai, they received word from their own scouts that there were heaps of camps ahead, however, they appeared to be mostly abandoned.

"Could've moved into Astapor, especially if they managed to get word we were closing in," Tormund suggested, but that did little to quell Jon's worries. Unless Kraznys was saving his worst for last, for when they eventually confronted him in the safety of his temple, then officials had been staggeringly wrong about the magnitude of Astapor's strength. Perhaps Kraznys was far more clever than anyone anticipated. Perhaps their own intelligence was fooled, and Kraznys had something much larger at scale. Larger, even, than what Jon and their military forces were imposed with.

Jon took to the skies with his squadron in tow by the next light, diving further into Yunkai, past the empty encampments. All seemed so still, compared to the never-ending noise of warfare over the past months, that while it should have been a welcoming attribute, it only fueled Jon’s anxieties further.

“Three miles out from Astapor, not seeing any signs of life,” Jon spoke into his radio for their men on the ground.

“Copy that. The coast is clear at the bay. Should be safe to move in, from what we’re seeing,” Lt. Commander Gendry Baratheon sounded from the sea.

Jon sighed, swearing under his breath, and then the resting knife of worry twisted in his gut, eyes narrowing. “Increase altitude immediately,” he instructed fiercely, his voice cracking as, once they broke through a particularly thick cloud, several bullets struck the body of his plane and he nearly met the other head-on.

Panting, sweat percolating every centimeter of his skin, he grit his teeth, trying to rally and direct his squadron safely to another area whilst trying to figure out why in the seven hells his radar had not picked up on the aircrafts flying straight in their path.

“Crow! What’s going on up there?!” Tormund bellowed, so loud that his voice nearly became inaudible over the static radio.

It didn’t take Jon long to figure it out as he rounded his crew for a better perspective, increasing speed as they did so. “Stealth aircraft,” Jon breathed back, checking his dashboard to confirm that he hadn’t suffered enough damage that it would be too dangerous to fly. Luckily, no alarms were setting off, and the plane was still running smoothly.

There was another voice, who Jon thought was maybe Theon, but it all became a garbled mess, and Jon was suddenly found trailing enemy aircraft. “Let’s split,” Jon instructed, eyeing the small squadron they were quickly approaching from the sea, as the clouds gave way to clarity now. 

Robb repeated Jon’s direction before they broke off in pairs, Robb trailing Jon just off to his right.

The Yunkai planes seemed to mimic their strategy, but that only added to their benefit. They were a little more sloppy in their control, and it was easy enough for Jon to discharge a hailstorm of bullets into the left, whilst Robb mirrored the partner. They both went down in a fiery blaze, but the piercing metal on steel behind them brought Jon out of his preliminary plans to seek out the nearest Yunkai base to dismantle.

“Fuck,” he groaned, thrusting left when Robb disappeared briefly from his radar. Jon managed to get out of the grasp of the Yunkai pilot behind him, and just when he was going to hollar for Robb to see where he had gone, the distinct  _ boom _ of the opponent behind him exploding told him exactly where Robb had gone.

Jon exhaled a heavy breath. “I should have you grounded for that,” Jon scolded only slightly humorously, because acting without his command technically was against the rules, and definitely could have gone awry had Jon not seen his little blip drop off.

“You would never,” Robb returned, and Jon could hear the cocky smirk in his voice.

“Skies are clear, commander,” someone said to him, though Jon was so transfixed on the silence again, he couldn’t even recall who it was. Regardless, they reformed, piercing over the browns and red of the city below them. The streets were abandoned, not a human form to be found. Jon continued to keep a sharp eye out for any unseen warplanes, unable to rely on his dash at this point.

He didn’t know how long they flew for, covering every quarter mile and keeping Tormund informed all the while that they were clear to move in. To their right, Jon could just make out the coast, their fleet nearly parallel to them, but about a mile back. When it was deemed safe to, Jon had them descend lower, close enough that they could truly see if there was any sign of life in this place. It had to have been another hour, maybe two, maybe more, and just as Tormund announced they were well into the heart of Yunkai, a terrible ringing filled Jon’s ears.

For a long, eternal moment, he couldn’t be certain which was louder: his radio squalling at his chest, or the neat rows of explosions swiftly rising to meet him.

Heart in his throat, he pulled hard against the throttle, as if he were jerking on the plane itself, lifting higher and higher, but he was a hair's breadth too late. The debris slamming against the belly of his plane was deafening, his jaw pressed so tightly together as he fought his plane to maintain stability while it stuttered and shook and descended at horrific speed.

" _ Crow! _ " Was all that he could hear in the fleeting half second that his radio came through. There was not a second to spare, fighting against the aircraft to level and find land again, but he saw nothing except grey and brown smoke and debris scattering across his windshield.

His dashboard then began to alarm, his wide, troubled eyes drifting to the indicator that he had an engine fire. A hot chill coursed through him, coating him in another layer of sweat, as none of his efforts were controlling the plane any longer. There was still intermittent crackling and yelling coming through his radio. It was clear that they walked straight into a trap, and though nobody would be able to hear him over the commotion, he tried anyway.

"Mayday! Mayday, mayday!" Jon shouted, trying anything, everything to find some strength left in the plane that could at least offer him just the slightest life left in it…

But when the plume finally cleared for him, and there was nothing but the blue pit of the bay before him, he was certain his heart stopped in his chest.

" _ Jon _ !" Robb's cracked voice screamed, and Jon wondered if he was watching as he made his descent downward.

"Preparing for impact," Jon managed, as the distinct, nightmarish sound of his engine dying completely forced his hands away from the controls. Within seconds, he felt gravity pulling him downward, the nose of the plane dipping toward the vast sea.

He was going to drown in the sea as blue and beautiful as Dany's eyes.

In the very short time it took him to accept what was going to happen and when it began to come to fruition, he braced one arm over his head and his other forearm against the dash in front of him, gravity pushing him back against his seat. He closed his eyes.

The impact throttled him, but his restraints kept him from being thrust through glass. He groaned against what felt like his brain being slammed against his skull, his neck whipping forward and then back once his plane plowed into the water.

The very moment the plane stilled, save for the gradual sinking, he used his quivering hands to unbuckle and loosen all of the various straps that anchored him to his seat. "Come on," he growled at himself when every other try his hands slipped, the adrenaline coursing through him like a wildfire, his body urging him to reach safety as water began to seep inside. With a quick glance upward as he freed himself at the waist, his heart pounded viciously on his chest seeing the murky depths of endless sea beginning to peek at him at the lowest point of his windows.

Finally, he whipped all of the belts aside, but everything shifted toward the nose of the plane just when he got his footing. The suction of water pulled him perpendicular to the sea floor, flattening him with a hard thud against the control panel and a grunt. If his body ached, which he was certain it was rioting at this point, he didn't know it yet. The spray of water rushed in at the sides the further down he went, and it wasn't long before he was up to his knees in it, trying to find purchase with his boots along the uneven footing below him. By now, the plane was nearly fully submerged, both from the inside and out, sending a further shock within him once it seeped through his clothes. It was deceivingly cold despite the climate outside, hitching his breath and chilling him to the marrow of his bones. He knew that the further down he went, the colder it would get.

Once he felt he was stable enough, he withdrew his pistol and sucked in the deepest breath he could manage, just as water crept up his neck, and shot through the sliver of glass that was instantly swallowed up. His body lifted with the current of the water as it engulfed the cockpit entirely, his heart racing so hard he was afraid he might need air quicker than he could find any. With the hilt of his dagger, he slammed it against the bullet hole of the glass, the density of the water buffering his strength.

He tried again, and again, and with each heave a little bit more air left him, small bubbles picking his face. He could barely see, and what was worse was the salt of the bay that stung his eyes and impeding on his vision, but he forced his lids open. Understanding that the dagger wasn't working to his standards, he shoved it in its scabbard and without a second thought, knowing it was only a matter of seconds before he would need oxygen, his lungs bursting now, he grasped whatever he could to keep him stationery and kicked relentlessly at the glass. Finally, it cracked, and he clawed his fingers and hands through the glass, the red of blood clouding in front of him. Again, he didn't feel the pain, though his body was reacting regardless - he didn't know how he was able to find any use in his hands after a while, but once he carved a large enough hole that he could fit through, he allowed himself to gravitate upward until his head was through first.

Seeing the distant light of the sun made him panic further, knowing he was that much closer, his chest aching and tightening and desperate for air, yet he was still sinking. Gritting his teeth, his hips snagged on the jagged glass, and he lowered himself enough until the flat of his boots grasped support. With as much strength as he could muster, he pushed with all of his vigor, groaning into the open sea as this time, he didn't miss the way the glass pierced and dragged through his layers and into his skin.

But he was  _ free. _ Free from the confines of his plane, near all of his energy spent, and his heart pumping blood so rapidly, his head was spinning. So much of his oxygen had seeped through his lips as he tried to escape, that there was barely a half breath remaining.

He kicked his feet and pawed desperately against the voluminous sea, trying not to alarm at how horrific and frightening the blue-black depths were below and surrounding him, and how this type of death scared him more than if he were to succumb to direct combat. Suffocating, drifting and alone.

With each few feet upward, he was dragged down another each time he lifted his legs to kick. Truly, his mind was whirling, and he began to privately say his goodbyes, the rays of sun so impossibly out of reach.

He was so tired. His eyelids suddenly felt heavy as anchors, a burden to keep them up, a burden to continue fighting up, a burden to stay awake…

As his body weakened, something small and gentle brushed his cheek, his eyes widening and body jolting in response to the foreign touch, but then his tired eyes drifted to Dany's locket. He could have cried if he had anything left in him, suddenly flooded with everything that was  _ her _ . Her musical laugh, the warm, soft touch of her skin, her tender heart. His promise to return to her.

His hands were working before his mind could catch up, and he was shucking off his heavy coverall without any further thought. The loss of its weight did wonders, making him feel as light as a feather rather than a sinking brick. With what he knew would be his last opportunity, as fatigue was blanketing him, he tore every muscle in his arms and legs to push him further up. With every surge upward, the temptation to give up weighed heavy on him - even so much as a break would kill him. His muscles ached, his heart slowing, chest a vice grip.

He was so close now, the light above clearer, less hazy, and he could almost make out the blue of the sky if he tried hard enough.

He was so close, but his body was fighting against him, as if the sea itself was sucking him back under. The chain around his neck was the only thing that kept him from giving in, to rest, even if just for a spell...

When he broke the surface, greedily inhaling and choking on the thinness of the air, relief took him by such surprise that he had to allow himself more time than he had to take in that very fact. His consciousness had nearly depleted right before his hand grasped the warm air, and he had been on the brink of giving in to his body’s wishes to just  _ sleep _ .

Immediately he shifted so that he was floating on his back, his arms gently keeping him afloat while he let his body recover from trauma for as long as he could warrant. The sun that he had been complaining about for weeks on end was suddenly the greatest treasure, and he took his time letting his sore lungs adjust to working again.

Distantly, and not so distantly, he could make out the sounds of warfare, and when he finally adjusted his burning eyes toward the coast, he felt so overwhelmed and gripped by fear and worry. No longer could he see much of the city buildings as they were shrouded in thick, grey and black smoke, red flames licking intermittently. Above, what remained of their air force was threading between Astaporian planes, bullets meeting metal and aerial bombs laying waste to what was left of the structures below, as the voices on the ground carried over the water. He positioned himself normally once his breathing had evened further, and when his eyes fell to his left, their fleet was nothing but flames and steel sinking below the surface.

A splashing sound to his other side tore him from his gaping, and he narrowed his eyes only to find a pair of hands struggling to break the surface. Jon didn't know where he found the aptitude, but he swam over as quick as his limbs would allow, reaching down to yank upward on the sinking body. With a hefty growl, he brought their head above the surface, and his heart nearly stopped for the millionth time to find Robb and his colorless face and purpled lips gasping for air just as Jon had moments ago.

"Robb!" Jon gave a firm slap to his brother's cheek and his back to keep his consciousness alight, trying to keep the weight of them both above the surface. A few delayed bubbles somewhere beneath where Robb had been told Jon that his plane had crashed, too.

Robb's eyes were slow to adjust, and even slower to acknowledge that Jon was holding him. A lazy, half smirk quirked his lips up. “You little shit. I thought you were a goner.”

Jon would have laughed had he not endless questions whirling around his head and boisterous war at their backs, but there was no time for any of that. “Can you swim? We need to get back,” his voice quivered, his body relenting against the idea of sacrificing any more strength or energy.

“I can swim,” Robb slurred, and Jon was already half dragging him toward the shore, not trusting either of them to make it to safety on their own.

“We need a plan,” Jon panted, eyes scoping what he could see from their location. It wasn’t much, they certainly weren’t close enough to know where it would even be safe to make landfall. They could be ambushed easily being so out in the open, and Jon had less protection against him with his flight suit in the grasps of the sea. The only thing he was left in was his sand t-shirt, boots, and trousers and suspenders. He had managed to hold onto his pistol and dagger, shoved most unsafely deep within his pockets, but all of his other long-range weaponry was joined with everything else down below. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was grateful to have left the rest of his backpack contents with Tormund.

“Jon,” Robb breathed, and for a moment Jon thought maybe he was losing consciousness, but it was just his exasperation of trying to regain proper breathing again. It didn’t help that Robb had turned into a heavier smoker than any of their forefathers. “We’re fucked.”

“No we’re not,” Jon replied adamantly. There was no way in any of the seven hells he survived what he did just to die on the banks of Astapor, and not even honorably. If he thought that to be true, he would have let the tide carry him after all. “We just can’t let our guards down. Not for one second.”

Robb spluttered a wet chortle, and Jon hated the fact that there was clearly water in his lungs. That would fester if he didn’t get help right away. “Let’s find you a medic first.”

“You don’t get it,” Robb wheezed, and Jon very much wanted to punch him for finding any humor in all of this. Jon’s body was still gripped by fear, and all of his wounds and pain were beginning to reach his nerves now. “We’re going to lose. So many…,” he hacked, spittle sliding out of one corner of his mouth, “so much death. Our fleet is gone. I haven’t had communication from anyone in - I don’t know how long.”

Jon barely let him finish his ridiculous sentence, only a few yards out from the coast now. “We haven’t  _ lost _ , Robb, else we wouldn’t still be fighting.”

They were silent until they reached a large rock formation, chests heaving as they took shelter behind it to sit and collect whatever strength remained. “Bloody hells - literally. What happened to you?”

It took Jon a moment to realize Robb was regarding him so severely, and he lowered his eyes to his maimed hands, and the red that was soaking through the sides of his shirt now. There was only a pang of pain, but otherwise, he still couldn’t feel much. “How much time do you have?” Jon asked dryly.

The sound of a bomb behind them made them both cower with their arms over their heads, folding into themselves until they knew they were safe again.

“Depends on what our plan is,” Robb said, daring a quick glance behind them. “How do we get out of here? We’re completely outnumbered and infiltrated. If we don’t get bombed from the sky, we’ll just get shot from below.”

Jon scanned Robb’s waist to see, gratefully, his weapons were still on him, but he seemed to have also lost his rifle. “We just need to make a break for it. They’re bound to be everywhere at this point. Let’s head back west, try to see what’s left where we came from.”

“Right,” Robb conceded, and after another minute, they kept themselves as flush against the rock wall along the beach that they could, weapons drawn. If an aerial bomb were to hit them, they would be doomed, but they could at least take shelter until the cloak of the wall ended.

The heavy smoke would be their next obstacle - another form of suffocating that Jon had no desire to die by, and certainly not a very respectable one at that. As soon as they were completely exposed, they sprinted across the narrow cobblestone path and directly into the thick of battle. Down here, further west, the smog was a little thinner, and while it seared their eyes and burned their lungs, they could at least make out silhouettes around them. The problem was determining if they were friend or foe, but as they went, they took down as many footsoldiers as their firearms provided. Robb was out of ammunition far earlier than Jon was comfortable with, and now it was on him to keep their defense up. They weaved in and out of crumbling structures, pinning themselves against half-standing buildings to recollect before resuming their path, choking against the constriction of their lungs. There was hardly any flat surface remaining with all of the debris and rubble twisting their ankles as they ran, permanently huddled and squatting down each time a bomb was set off.

They reached a dry stretch of land where the smoke was sparse, each of them coughing and hacking up particles from their already-tried lungs. They ran, and ran, and ran, practically choking on air, stumbling over chunks of stone and bodies and pieces of things Jon didn’t know what they used to belong to, and each time one of them fell, the other was there to drag them back up. 

They ran until they were bludgeoned by a group of bodies, each of them falling unceremoniously onto their arses, but an overwhelming relief flooded Jon down to his aching bones when he saw that it was Tormund, Grey and Theon. Jon didn't even spare a second thought in his gladness to see Theon.

"Seven bloody hells! We thought you both were dead!" Theon wheezed, and Jon could almost laugh at how utterly ridiculous the lot of them looked, knocked on their asses in the middle of absolute chaos.

"Aren’t we?" Robb replied, rubbing at an aching shoulder where he had been trampled by Tormund.

“The hell are you wearing, crow? Looks like you got caught with your pants ‘round your ankles,” Tormund ribbed, but then they were on their feet when the deafening sound of warplanes sounded overhead, and they took to the cloak of tall grass, peering up past the shrouds of black smoke suffocating the city. Five…twenty...fifty...on and on, more and more flew over them in formation. Perfect formation, and not one meant to ambush. It seemed to go on forever, and it dawned on Jon that they were fucking fools. They had been duped, and they fell straight into the trap.

“Get to the base,” he demanded adamantly, already making steps backward, his eyes never leaving the sky.

“Base?” Theon asked dumbly, suddenly making Jon want to punch him in the mouth. “We just got here! What do you me-”

“Get to the fucking base! We’re not meant to be here!” Jon shouted, his own volume taking even him by surprise.

“I thought I gave the orders,” Tormund shot back, then broke out into a cheeky grin, but Jon wasn’t having it. He had already begun running in the direction of where he thought their base was, but both the smoke inhalation and his hammering heart in his throat were misconstruing his sense of direction.

“Crow! Where are you going? Switching sides on us?” Tormund grabbed hold of Jon’s elbow like a father to toddler, wrenching him the other way. He hadn’t realized he had begun darting straight into the heart of the city again, but he could barely think let alone do so rationally.

They stayed tucked low in the grass, though they were fairly confident that even if they were spotted from above, their adversaries wouldn’t bother to stop to bomb them to pieces. It was clear they had a specific destination in mind, one that had dread rooted deep in Jon’s stomach to the point he thought he might become sick. They were so low, Jon could see the sigils of each region: Vaes Dothrak, Astapor, Meereen, Yunkai, peppered with Qarth.

The path back to the base was long and hard and had them all grappling for water and the relief of a cold shower, but they didn’t have time for either. Upon their return, more of their own were flying back inland, one of them coming to such an abrupt halt that Jon and his companions had to practically flatten themselves against the pavement to avoid getting hacked to death by propellers. 

“Who is that?” Tormund roared, already stomping across the tarmac to the halting plane. “Who taught you to fly, Payne?! Your drunk grandmother?”

A young, dark-haired man with full cheeks tottered over to them, in such haste that he had all but fallen gracelessly out of the plane. Staggering, he approached them, his skin blanched and breaths coming heavy as he braced his hands on his knees.

“Spit it out!” Tormund cried, thumping Podrick’s back with a hard slap of his hand as if he might prod them out that way.

Aggravated and growing every impatient at the time they were wasting, Jon stepped forward and straightened Pod by his shoulders. “What’s happened?”

Pod practiced a few more breaths first. Jon felt bad for the man, but every second they wasted, the further behind they would be. “K...Kraznys…he’s taken his armies...t-...to-”

“King’s Landing,” Jon finished, and Pod nodded fervently. He knew it already, but that didn’t squelch the nausea growing rampant in his stomach. He could barely pay attention to the rest of Pod’s dialogue, but tried to latch onto every word so he knew what they were up against. They had gathered quite an audience by now, planes continuing to make land, footmen drawing in full of soot and blood and exhaustion and groups hauling in bodies they lost.

“Yes...and...we only have...four fleets left...don’t know how many of the others...so many were caught in the attacks - so many slaves were trapped, too - I only got the report from Lieutenant Mormont before he died-”

Jon heard enough. Regardless of whose forces were stronger, they weren’t of any use here anymore. Kraznys had planted a snake pit, and they had fallen into it probably easier than he could have imagined. A herculean effort with malleable results on Westeros’s end. Embarrassing and pathetic it was, but Jon could dwell on that later. There was so much torment to their own, to however many thousands of slaves, all of them their flesh and blood no matter what sea divided them. They failed them through and through, and Jon felt rage boil hot in his blood, his fists clenched so hellaciously that his nails dug into his skin.

Jon vaguely heard a medic rushing to his aid, but he barely felt the wear and tear on his body at this point, and he waved them off as he searched for a spare plane that wasn’t damaged or low on fuel. There were none to be found, and each step only served to instigate his growing anger. He was pissed off, disheartened, and utterly rattled, and he never felt more ready to see to Kraznys’s death, and everyone who played a hand in the deaths of the slaves.

“Take mine,” Theon called, waving Jon down, attempting to draw him out of his indignation.

Jon frowned, wiping a hand over his forehead and immediately regretting it as pain shot through the length of his fingers to his shoulder. “What?”

“Some of us need to recover the bodies, and if they’re moving out, now’s our best chance to do it.”

“Right. Thanks,” Jon clapped Theon’s shoulder and jogged over to retrieve his backpack from Tormund before boarding Theon’s plane.

Once he was all buckled and secured, he roused the engine and waited for the rest to fall in line behind him. Tormund gave him a proper salute, to which Jon nodded in return, and led the way home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, after all of that, I can promise we have a reunion to look forward to next chapter (woohoo finally!!). As always, thanks so much for all of the love, and see you all here soon!
> 
> P.S. Sorry about the weird formatting, it looked fine before I posted the actual chapter, so I hope it wasn't too distracting 😪


	7. Nothing Compares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More war, and the reunion that was promised!

“Two lines means positive, right?” Dany queried for at least the third time that afternoon.

Sighing patiently (or so Dany had believed), Missandei placed her hands on Dany’s small shoulders. “Yes. And you’ve taken a total of four at-home tests  _ and _ have gotten confirmation from the obstetrician that everything is in working order. Not to mention, you left your dinner at the front door last night.”

Dany groaned, settling her hand over the very gentle swell of her belly. It had all been so surreal,  _ everything _ , all of it, to the point that the idea of growing this little sweetling in her belly was the one constant she latched on to be true. It was just one more thing that she couldn’t bear to lose, yet every so often she feared that the stress wearing on her would reach the baby. “Don’t remind me. I thought I would be one of the lucky ones that could avoid the less-than-endearing symptoms.”

The vomiting had begun two weeks ago, and had been persistent enough that her doctor had ordered her to take it a little more easy on herself. She had to construct a healthier diet both for her well-being and the baby’s, since much of what her stomach was able to consume decided later that it was revolting, and would leave her soon thereafter. Naturally, the nature of her job in the current climate did little to ease her workload. Since they had been at full capacity, and everyone needed to put forth their best efforts in terms of availability, she tried to put her focus on more of the follow-up care than getting caught up in weaving between beds to assist in various procedures and juggle all of her talents all at once.

At the least, being stationary for longer periods of time had aided in abating the nausea, but it seemed to lay dormant until she moved again, thus forcing her to sprint off to the nearest washroom.

One of her biggest allies had been General Davos, who had become a fast friend for her. They became so acquainted with one another’s presence that he could take one look at her and know when she was feeling particularly ill. In those instances, he would purposely keep her longer at his bedside so that she couldn’t be ferried off bed-to-bed and upset her stomach. He would share tales of his family, of his children and all seven of his sons’ personalities. It was more than enough to fill the times they shared together.

He hadn’t been informed of her pregnancy at any point - it didn’t seem fair for any more people to know before she could tell Jon - but she occasionally asked him the odd question about caring for babies and raising them into pleasant human beings. She actually had thought he might know what was happening, but if he did, he never commented on it. She passed it off as her wishes to someday start a family. Some of the advice he gave her that stuck were as follows:

  1. Always take other parents’ advice with a grain of salt, because no one child is the same as the other (including between all seven of his own, even all being boys).
  2. Don’t fret over the baby getting hurt or accidental injuries - they are far more resilient than they look, and Davos was confident that his sons had mastered the art of concussions (which did little to reassure Dany, especially given she understood the repercussions of head injuries)
  3. Soak up every second with them even when you’re utterly exhausted from the sleepless nights, because it truly goes by in a flash, and then they are adults, and you’re fretting over them until long after death, anyhow.



When Dany had gone to her obstetrician, Dr. Olenna Tyrell, for her second visit last week, she had estimated that Dany was approximately nearing her four-and-a-half month mark. Her abdomen had begun to take a noticeable shape around month three, though it was easily passable as having just eaten a very salty meal and bloating from it. It had evened out a bit now, as it was more akin to a small protrusion just below her belly button, and now it had rounded out above and below that. She figured that sometime after the fifth month, it would get too difficult to hide, at least among her flatmates. They would probably scorn her for having hidden it for so long by that point, but she planned to hold out for as long as she could, with auspicious hope that Jon would return before the baby’s debut (and, better yet, long before that).

It was too early yet to feel any real movement, but she had just recently begun to feel the little whisks of flutters, a feeling similar to that of the initial flutters she’d had the first time she’d laid eyes on Jon (although, admittedly, those were quite violent flutters), or the time she realized Jon was going to force her onto the ferris wheel. Each time she felt it, she couldn’t decide between laughing and crying, or sometimes she would indulge in both.

With her condition, and Dr. Tyrell's adamant request to take it easy on herself  _ especially  _ now, it was difficult to explain that to Dr. Baratheon and all of her other figureheads without giving a specific reasoning for it. She hated that after the countless hours and burnout, they were suddenly questioning her ability to work, and that was even after  _ they _ had been the ones to try and push her to rest before she killed herself doing it. They were reluctant about it, as she had only admitted she had a private medical condition that she was required to monitor. Dr. Tyrell had insisted that she would be happy to slap some sense into Dany's male superiors should they continue to give her a hard time over it.

It took her pulling tooth and nail to get an extra day off in the week, but they had conceded. It wasn't as if she truly  _ wanted _ to give up the day, but if it was for the benefit of the baby, there wasn't anything she wouldn't do to keep him or her thriving.

"Are we ready?" Missandei chimed amidst a giddy smile, nearly bouncing on her toes with a beach bag twirling in hand.

It was one of the rare days that they both shared a day off together, and they thought they might try to enjoy it at the beach. During these troubled times, with their shifting schedules, they were like ships passing in the night. The only opportunities they found any quality girlfriend time together was usually when they walked home together a few times a week, and even so, they typically were wrung thin and too exhausted to talk much.

Dany smiled and hitched her own bag over her shoulder, propping her sunglasses over her eyes. "Ready!"

* * *

✈️👗💄🐺

* * *

The beach was pleasantly mostly unpopulated, save for a scattering of the odd couple. Missandei propped a large umbrella into an agreeable area where the lapping waves just reached their toes. Dany assisted by flattening their towels under the shade and began mixing together their mimosas they'd brought along (both non-alcoholic; Missandei insisted she couldn't possibly get her buzz on when Dany wasn't allowed to participate).

Missandei arranged a small display of cheese and crackers and fruits, their own small, miniature makeshift celebration of the impending baby until they could do so properly.

Dany situated herself onto her side, letting her legs soak up the warmth of the sun whilst otherwise lounging in the shade. Laying like this, she could just start to feel the tiny weight of her belly anchor to the side with her.

Missandei abruptly cleared her throat, and when Dany looked up to see Missandei had plucked Dany's work uniform from her bag, she smacked her hand over her mouth with a giggle. "You never know!"

"You  _ truly _ don't know how to turn off, do you?" Missandei needled, folding and tucking away the clothing and joining Dany with her drink in hand.

"Not really, but that isn't exactly new," Dany admitted, lifting her glass. "To babies and not knowing what the hell is going to happen.”

Missandei clinked her glass gently to Dany’s. “To Jon’s potent sperm and your fruitful uterus.”

Had Dany tipped her drink any further, she would have spluttered mimosa all over their fun little set-up, nearly doubling over in laughter to the point that it ached.

Missandei shrugged nonchalantly with a pleased smirk, taking her first sip. “I mean, truly. What would the odds be? Heavens.”

“Oh, my  _ gods _ ,” Dany wheezed, rolling back onto her elbow, her face blazing hotter than the sun. 

“Look how  _ cute _ it is, though!” Missandei almost squealed, reaching over to softly poke at the small swell of Dany’s belly. Two-piece swimsuits were becoming all the rage lately, but with Dany’s body seeming to change and morph every other week, she still preferred the one-piece, though still felt it was cute enough. She’d need to increase her size soon, however, as her abdomen pushed against the fabric, and her tender, swollen breasts were at their maximum capacity. Even her face had begun to fill out just a bit, at the cheeks, especially so once she’d been instructed on preserving a well-balanced diet. The thing was, the healthier choices left her stomach imploring for higher quantities. Sometimes she felt as though she would never be satisfied no matter how much she ate.

Dany smiled as her eyes drifted downward, still finding it such an unusual sight. “I’ve had one dream that it’s a girl, and another that it’s a boy.”

“Maybe that means it’s both,” Missandei suggested, eyebrows jumping up and down when Dany looked up at her with mild bewilderment.

Dany grimaced, though not so much at the idea of corralling twins. She had always imagined she’d have a wealth of children someday, if her life ever settled down. It was the fear of birthing them that scared her half to death. She had been trying not to think about that aspect of it too much, even though she would, inevitably, have to. “If that’s the case, I’ve already hired you as their nanny.”

“And you know I’ll be around night and day, whenever you need me.”

“This world does not deserve Missandei of Naath,” Dany praised warmly, reaching over to squeeze her friend’s hand before sipping at her drink.

“Dany,” Missandei called gently, the levity in her voice swapped for something a bit more grave. “I mean that no matter the outcome. Whether...well, if-”

_ If Jon doesn’t survive. _

“I know,” Dany said weakly, nodding her understanding whilst warding off impending tears. “Thank you. I love you for it.”

They each finished off their drinks, then laid back on their towels. “They’ll come back,” Dany said after a while, already finding that her hand was a magnet to her belly. She had always wondered, in passing, if there was a reason women tended to hold their stomachs so often whilst pregnant. Now she knew. First it was the newness of it, then it became natural. Sometimes she did it just to remind herself that it was real, or that maybe she might catch the first movements against her hand first.

“How do you know? I wish I had that kind of faith. There’s hardly been any updates in weeks.”

Closing her eyes, Dany inhaled a slow breath. “I don’t know. I suppose there have been a lot of omens lately. Maybe it’s just my terribly optimistic brain fooling me.”

“Oh, what sort of omens? Do share.” Missandei flipped onto her side to face Dany, folding her hands beneath her face as a pillow.

“Well, the baby for a start,” Dany replied with a small laugh. “I keep having dreams of Jon with a child, although the face isn’t very clear. I’ve never seen pouty, dark, curly-haired men before Jon, and suddenly I’m seeing them everywhere.”

Missandei burst into a bark of a laugh, trying to mute it with her hand when Dany shot her an incredulous look. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Missandei gasped, and Dany rolled her eyes good-naturedly. “I think that’s your sleep deprivation talking, because I can tell you not one man in all of King’s Landing looks like Jon. Not even  _ close _ .”

“I mean, that’s common knowledge. Maybe I’m biased, but he’s far and away the nicest eye candy on the continent,” Dany smirked playfully when Missandei scoffed.

“I meant nobody  _ broods _ better than your boyfriend, my dear. But yes, you do have a point to a degree, though I digress, because have you ever stared into Grey’s eyes? Mm.”

Dany giggled so hard that it cramped her ribs. “No, I can’t say that I have. And if I did, I’d expect a firm punishment for ogling at  _ your _ boyfriend.”

“Well,” Missandei drawled, alerting Dany that some sort of vulgar comment was imminent, “I’m sure Jon would have no reservations in providing  _ that  _ for you. If you catch my drift.”

Dany snorted in a most uncivilized manner. “I caught it, alright.”

Her eyes closed, and for a long while there was nothing but the gentle breeze, the lapping of the warm sea at her toes, and the occasional sound of laughter from some of the other beach-goers.

She was nearly half asleep when there was a scream, somewhere that sounded very far off, but startled her nonetheless.

“What was that?” She heard Missandei mumble to her right, her voice thick with sleep.

More screams, still in the distance, but persistent.

Dany propped herself up onto her elbows, twisting around, but she couldn’t make out anything unusual. The other people around them seemed to notice, as well, all of their attention focused somewhere behind them.

More screams, shouts, and a vague  _ boom _ , followed by a hammering of something that resembled fireworks.

“Let’s see what it is,” Missandei said as some of the people around them began to move further inland. Dany plucked her dress from her bag and slipped it on over her swim suit, following Missandei's lead. They stopped when they had traveled down along the length of the beach and squinted against the brightness of the sky, and Dany shielded the sun from her eyes with her hand, eyes narrowing further. Off in the distance, there were just-barely discernible dark lines dotting the blue. The distance was making it impossible to decide what they were - birds? No, she'd never seen birds conjugate in large groups.

There was more hollering and commotion, and just up ahead, a woman collapsed in the sand, several others who'd been trailing her stopping to aid her. Dany and Missandei and everyone around them went ahead to see if she was alright.

But it was clear she was not - she was in hysterics, panting so hard Dany feared she might soon dissolve into a full-fledged panic attack, a trembling and shaking hand prodding the sky where the strange shapes were quickly drawing in, but her voice was trapped deep within her chest.

Dany vaguely saw someone place a cold water bottle against her soaked forehead, but otherwise her eyes were transfixed on the sky ahead, a deep, frozen dread anchoring Dany where she stood. "Missi…," she said weakly.

"Run... _ run… _ ," the woman choked on the air, face straining to push the words about. "It's - that's-"

The sudden division of the looming objects ahead all but confirmed Dany's worst fears, as did the distinct sound of bullets, another group following the first. Dany's stomach constricted so severely she nearly heaved into the sand.

"Missi! We have to get to the hospital,  _ now _ !" Dany reached for her friend's hand and wretched her toward the grass, their picnic long forgotten now.

"What is it?" Missi asked, but the warble in her voice told Dany that she knew just as well as she did, but hoped for a different answer.

"Run!  _ Run _ !" Someone screamed as plane engines and artillery fire punctured the air. Dany craned her head around and watched with great horror when a warplane fell like a fiery comet into the ocean, the very one that had just given them a much-needed calmness but was rapidly morphing into a graveyard.

"Oh no, no no  _ no _ ," Missandei cried, but Dany didn't stop, even when the planes were so close she could feel the ground vibrating below her bare feet.

Her chest tightened in a vice and they sought shelter by huddling in an alleyway between two buildings, crouching low with their hands cuffing their ears as planes soared low enough to quake the structure pressed against their backs. Dany dared to turn her eyes upward, feeling so overcome with fear and dread that she could no longer keep her rising bile at bay, and emptied her stomach onto the cobblestone next to her.

"Let's get you inside," Missandei said definitively, but Dany resisted her hand tugging in hers.

"Not yet," Dany replied, trying to will her voice louder than all of the noise encompassing them while Missandei threw her a perplexed look. Before Dany could clarify, they huddled together, embracing one another against a terrible, eardrum-shattering, heart-stopping detonation.

Together they whimpered and their bodies shook, and when Dany thought it was clear, she cautiously poked her head around the corner, Missandei permanently latched onto Dany's left hand. Billowing smoke was rising from where she surmised was around the old Sept of Baelor, and though she was no wizard on the tactics of war, could only deduce that they would also seek out the King's Landing air base as well as their navy ports.

"If we can make it to the hospital, we'll be safe," Missandei noted with a thin voice.

"I'm not so sure they care about violations, Missi," Dany said, peering up at the sky, then slowly rose to her feet when the familiar sight of black fighter planes swarmed overhead. She felt an emotional cocktail all at once: relief that their forces hadn't been entirely obliterated in Essos and they wouldn't (hopefully) succumb to a razed city, gut-wrenching fear that their own mortality was being challenged, and downright heartsore that Jon was up there and would be found safe and alive by the end of this. As a group of them passed over, she tried to make out the blue letters of ‘Lyanna’, and knowing that Jon would be leading the front of a squadron, but they were far too fast for her eyes to adjust.

"We don't have our bands, so we'll have to do this smart," Missandei said. As hospitals and medics of all sorts were considered medical neutrality, they (lawfully) would be off-limits if their red cross arm bands were on display. But, Dany had reservations - they appeared to be attacking at random, and she doubted that they came all this way to abide by any particular set of rules. From up ahead at those speeds, she doubted they could clearly make out the sigil, anyhow, even if they did have them.

“I want you to stay right behind me,” Missandei made sure that Dany’s attention was fully on her, undivided. It took Dany a moment to understand that Missi was assigning herself as a makeshift shield, and she shook her head stubbornly.

“No, no, Missi, I’m not-”

It didn’t matter what qualms she had, because Missandei was already weaving them in and out of various streets and passageways, keeping a secure hold on Dany’s hand whilst leading in front of her. If Dany wasn’t so crippled by fright and panic, she would come to her side, but the ground was shaking against the air combat overhead, and the dreaded anticipation of getting caught up in a bomb had her practically crawling out of her skin.

A rain of bullets intersected the street they were preparing to cross over, each of them screeching and falling over each other to retreat back into the alley until the offending passover cleared. Dany could faintly make out the palpable eruptions that she thought might have been at the navy port, but there was no time to ponder anything besides winding their way toward their intended destination.

Everything felt so bizarre, like she was trapped in a nightmare and observing from the outside in, feeling so far removed from her own conscious at times. She’d never seen so many frantic, hysterical people in her life, all running and trying to never fall under the shadow of the opposing side. The sky was an earsplitting cacophony of enormous engines and gunfire, some of them diving precariously low.

Dany couldn’t be certain how long it took them to reach the hospital, but they practically threw themselves through the doors, the outburst startling those who were taking shelter in the lobby. They didn’t pause for anyone, even when questions were being thrown at them regarding the conditions outside, and decided against the elevator in case they became trapped inside. Rather, they opted for the stairs, which required several breaks for Dany’s sake.

“Missi, your face,’ Dany gasped, worrying her thumb over the thin laceration at her cheek.

“Don’t worry about me; I don’t even feel it,” she assured as they continued up.

“Not yet, but you will,” Dany refuted.

By the time they reached their floor, Dany’s legs felt as boneless as jelly, and inside was just as chaotic as out: doctors were whirring about between the scattering of beds, nurses trailing them at their ankles while bloodied civilians became a constant flow through their doors as they were directed from the desk on the main floor.

“Oh, thank the gods you’re both alright!” Talisa bumbled over and pulled the both of them into her arms, giving them a proper lookover once she pulled away. “Go to bed nine, Missi, and I’ll stitch that for you.”

Missandei turned to consider Dany for a moment, a silent question, but Dany urged her to go on, especially since her stomach was rearing its ugly head again. Talisa gave Dany a quick peck to her cheek before wandering off to tend to Missandei. 

On top of morning sickness and the scene unfolding before her, what nearly brought her to her knees was a child - no older than five, she guessed - being carried in and cradled in her father’s arms. It seemed he was so hysterical about her unconscious state, he had ascended his way here without checking in downstairs first, as two security guards had chased him in. 

Dany was crossing the room before she could think any further on it. “It’s quite alright,” she soothed the guard whose face was beet red, and she couldn’t determine if it was from chasing this man, or that he managed to find his way here without clearance first. “We have room for her.”

Disgruntled, the pair of them retreated while Dany led the father to one of the few spare beds, a whimper escaping him with each pained breath.

"Dr. Baratheon," Dany called where he was fixing up a bandage. Meanwhile, Dany took the child and placed her on her back, then hovered her ear over the small, parted mouth. "She's breathing," she assured the father, who then preceded to collapse onto his knees with relief. The poor darling looked as though she had gotten caught up in the collateral damage if one of the bombings, her pink dress dotted with red, and a nasty bloodied gouge to the crown of her head.

Dr. Baratheon joined them in no time, and Dany made a mental note to check his blood pressure before long - his breaths were coming shallow, brow damp, and face as red as a terrible sunburn. Not to mention, he wasn't exactly the most robust person in the world, and she'd been worrying over his health for a few weeks now since they'd become so inconceivably overwhelmed.

Whilst he began examining the girl, Dany helped the father to his feet, mindful to not put too much strain on her own self. She fetched him a chair, then collected a pen and notepad to scribble some notes. He still had a difficult time speaking, especially with the doctor fretting over his daughter, but as Dany had suspected, they'd been encumbered by debris from a blast. As he was retelling the event, the door flung open again, and on instinct Dany flew to her feet, but knew it wouldn't be Jon judging by the terrible tremors still rocking the building amid the war right outside their windows.

Instead, it was a group of seven, followed by three more, all of them looking as though they had bathed in blood and muk or worked in the old mines and were caught up in an explosion. The little girl in the bed began to wake as Dr. Baratheon saw to cleansing and sterilizing her wounds; Dany had felt quite proud that he had adopted the herbal salve that Rhaegar had taught her to make, as it seemed to accelerate healing times and overall wellbeing of their patients. The father was at her side at once, cradling her little hands and thanking the gods that she had not been taken to them too soon.

"Daenerys, I've only just realized you're here on your day off," Dr. Baratheon inquired.

She was almost too preoccupied by the little girl and her father comforting her that she didn't hear him at first. He raised a bushy brow toward her when she didn't respond right away. "Sorry. Yes, Missandei and I were at the beach when...all of this happened."

He blinked. "And your first response was to come here?"

"Of course," she said, as if there was any other option. Truthfully, this might very well  _ be _ their safest option.

"They've...the ships…," one man came gasping, so riddled in grime it took Dany a humiliating amount of time to realize he was a sailor. "They destroyed...all of our reinforcements on Dragonstone...and now...half of-" a terrible, wet hacking cough had him doubling over while Dany and several other of the girls tried to find somewhere to place them.

Of the eighty-two beds, all were reserved now, and this would only be the tip of the iceberg. Every floor was full capacity, some well before theirs was.

"We need to get creative," Missandei noted.

"We can start with chairs for the acute cases, although to be fair we haven't had much of those," Dany replied, the ebb of nausea prodding her stomach once more. She could smell  _ everything _ , her sense of smell having heightened considerably over the past couple of weeks which was  _ not _ a good combination between her vomiting, and being confined to a space of nearly one hundred sick and wounded patients.

The walls and windows vibrated then, sending all of those who were standing to duck and flinch, and several of the men who'd been taken off the field cried out, the trauma only a few hours old. Dany whimpered as they rode out the humdrum of planes flying overhead, and the only thing they could do in such a vulnerable state was hope that they were truly safe from any violence at all.

When it all passed by, Dany made her way across the hall to an office and began to pull out the vacant chairs to line against the walls. By the time she returned, there were more faces she hadn't recognized. Sweat dewed on her skin, joining Dr. Qyburn clot a severed femoral artery, then to assist in removing embedded shrapnel in a man who couldn't be any less than five years younger than she was. Dr. Baratheon pulled her to help stabilize someone who'd begun seizing, and when they were stable, Dr. Melisandre borrowed her small hands to stitch up a woman's chest who had been struck with blunt force from one of the several bombings. 

As the hours passed, and the space crammed with patients, Dany was forced to excuse herself to the washroom where she huddled over the toilet as her body heaved. Long after, it had only been air, which only served to pain her abdomen and back muscles to the point of tears, and also as a reminder that she desperately needed to eat something. 

Somewhere between her last two patients, they'd heard bits off the radio (to which the commentators had been going haywire giving a play-by-play now that the action had been brought to their doorstep) that the windows of the lower two floors had blown out when they'd been the indirect result of missile fire, that their navy port was barely recognisable, and that the Essosi bombers had near-flattened both their Dragonstone base and much of the area at King's Landing with wildfire barrels. It was an ancient, primeval method that many tyrants of their history adopted, created by alchemists long thought extinct, a contemptible approach that was a means to instill terror and submission from one's own civilians. It was easily combustible and formidable. It had explained why they'd seen a sudden spike in burn victims, though these were specific to acid burns, and hadn’t understood that at the time.

"Dany! Dany!" Missi's voice grew closer at rapid speed before barreling through the door.

"I'll be right there," Dany called hoarsely, throat feeling as though it had been burnt by wildfire itself.

"You'll want to come now, trust me." The apprehensive optimism in her voice had Dany standing so quickly that she knocked her head against the stall from a rush of dizziness. Missi was there to steady her, but Dany hardly noticed anything right now. Her mind was solely on that treatment room.

Dany was out one door and into the next in seconds, watering eyes scanning desperately for a head of curly raven hair, but Missi saved her once more by linking their arms and bringing her there for her. Every accelerated step made her increasingly ill with longing, blinking against her mounting tears to clear her vision.

There, in the furthest northwest corner of the room, was her love. And while he looked to be in distressing condition, she knew by the way he was being fussed over that he was  _ alive _ . A gentle nudge at her back persuaded her to move closer, so she did, her chest a vice and breathing shallow. Slowly, to not get in the way of the two doctors and nurses minding him. He was unconscious, though whether war-inflicted or via medication, she couldn't be sure.

Only a few feet away now, she felt her knees wobble, her eyes searing, and Missandei was there to hold her before she could collapse to her knees. "It's okay, honey," Missi soothed while Dany allowed herself to weep freely into her friend's shoulder, fighting to keep her eyes open and on Jon as they stripped him of his coveralls and shirt to examine any hidden wounds. A modesty blanket was draped over his waist.

Dany turned toward him once she had collected herself enough, the rims of her eyes on fire. There was a gash at his hairline that matted some of his hair (to which she just noticed had been trimmed, but was quickly lengthening again), an abrasion over his right cheek, nearly symmetrical deep slashes crawling up his sides, several smaller knicks to his front and arms. His dog tags had been removed off to the bedside tray, but they'd left her locket around his neck, which only made her grin like a lovestruck fool. When her eyes scoured his face again, there was a small crease at his brow, and she couldn't help herself but to laugh privately, quietly. Only Jon Snow would find this displeasing even in rest.

"Daenerys, Missandei tells me you know this man." It was less a question from Dr. Baratheon and more a confirmation. Dany nodded vigorously but realized he couldn't see her where he stood, trying to clean his head wound.

"Yes," she squeaked, her throat constricting.

Dr. Qyburn materialized with two buckets, one which he placed on the floor below Jon's head, the other filled with warm water and soap.

"Come round," Dr. Baratheon waved her over, though it took her all of her strength to move again. She'd been rooted to her spot, counting all the ways in which her life had been so fortuitous to have Jon in her grasp again. She felt that she needed him now more than ever.

Dany did as asked by cradling the bottom of Jon's head in her hands while Dr. Qyburn hiked him further up the bed so that his hair dangled through Dany's fingers. She smiled at the minuscule frown that twitched along his lips, and she felt she may need restraints to not bend down and kiss his pouty lips.

"Might get you a bit wet," Dr. Baratheon murmured, but she was quick to kindly hush him while he carefully poured the warm, soapy water over the gash in his head and let it seep into his hair to free it of the dried blood. Where Dany stood, she let her thumbs lightly run circles around the sides of his head, never ceasing watching his face in the hopes that he'd wake soon.

Dr. Qyburn cleansed and sterilized the various wounds around Jon's middle, threading closed the openings, then helped bring Jon back fully atop the bed. Dany only then realized that Jon  _ had _ a bed, as she scanned the room to see how many were still either standing or being cared for in chairs.

"General Seaworth offered his up, now that he has mended," Dr. Baratheon had explained when she'd asked. She had been in such a state she hadn't noticed the General had been absent, but for now, all she wanted to do was stay by Jon's side for as long as she was able.

"Debris in this one. I suspect some sort of rock or stone. Minorly concussed," Dr. Baratheon noted, with another nurse transcribing every word. Dany didn't move, only continued to lightly smooth her fingertips over his scalp to his right. "Must have been on the ground at some point. Can't accurately comment on the flank wounds; it's easy enough to see they were tears, but old given the state of the old blood versus the new. Bullet wounds to the left calf healed well on site. Shrapnel scattering about thirty percent of the upper body; Commander was not wearing complete uniform. His lungs sound a little congested and wheezy, likely smoke inhalation."

Dany raised her brows at Jon, swearing that if he had done without his flight suit because of the scorching Essos heat, she would make sure he heard about it when he was well again.

She wasn't sure how much longer Dr. Baratheon stayed, but her heart began to feel full again, even despite his condition. "Why don't you take some time to rest?"

She regarded the doctor for a moment, then drifted her attention off to the commotion of their wall-to-wall beds. When she opened her mouth to protest - much as she wanted to do anything  _ but _ leave Jon's bed - he said that it was an order that she save her energy for her actual shift. Before he left, he winked at her, and cast a small nod toward Jon.

Dany sent him a watery, grateful smile before she sidled up beside Jon, mindful of her positioning so that she wouldn't chafe any wounds. She couldn't care less about how improper she must look, curled up on her side with a thin blanket up to their ribs, fingertips glazing and tracing over his relaxed face, down until she flattened her palm over his beating heart. She pressed her eyes closed, warm tears dampening her face.

Somehow, amid the chaos, she found rest.

* * *

✈️👗💄🐺

* * *

It was well after midnight when Dany next roused, to the sound of muted delight that the war was concluded. They'd defeated Kraznys, bombed his warship that he'd been stationed on, defeated what remained of the Essosi armies, and dismantled slavery for good. From what Dany gathered in her hazy half-sleep state, it wasn't without great loss to their forces and the capital itself.

  
  
But for now, that was about all Dany could handle, slowly blinking her eyes open to find Jon hadn't seemed to move, but he was breathing. His head had turned ever so slightly toward her. 

A gentle hand squeezed her shoulder, Missandei rounding the bed with clear relief enlightening her features. Dany smiled groggily up at her.

"Time for some fluids," Missi drawled softly, preparing a needle and cleansing the crook of Jon's opposite arm. Dany's eyes landed on Missi's threaded wound on her cheek, and it made her love her friend that much more, and at this point her heart may very well just implode in her chest.

Dany then shifted so that her face was more level with Jon's, resting her hand against his cheek, her heart seizing in her chest at how serene he looked, long lashes feathered at the top of his cheeks, small, warm puffs of air whispering through his nose. "It's a good thing he's not awake for it," Dany whispered, smirking slyly. "He's not very fond of needles."

"Unless he's bent over and you're the one administering it," Missi returned, and Dany had to bury her face into Jon's shoulder to not cackle and wake those who had finally managed to sleep at this hour, instead muzzling her snort into the bed.

But when she lifted her head again, there was the slightest upward tick to Jon's mouth, which only accelerated her heart into an arresting speed. 

"Don't be too gentle with him," Dany murmured to Missi, but her eyes were fixed on Jon's face still. 

Naturally, Missi was anything but rough, pushing the needle precisely into a thick vein, garnering a muffled groan from Jon. After a pause, and a deep inhale that resulted in a pained grunt when his stitching expanded with it, he finally spoke.

"My head," he rumbled through a worn voice, raising a heavy hand to the offending spot but flinching when it grazed over the stitching.

"I'll go get more poppy," Missandei suggested, but Jon was fast to refuse.

He still hadn't opened his eyes, but Dany had a feeling that was due to the concussion. "I want to stay awake," he whispered, his breathing coming heavy as his body awakened.

Dany stroked his cheek, then brought her eyes up to Missi. "There's another jar of the chamomile salve in the supply closet, and aspirin."

Missandei smiled brightly at her before trailing off.

"Dany," Jon breathed, making her head dizzy with affection, "is that you?"

"It's me," she whispered softly, leaning forward to press a kiss to the cheek her hand wasn't occupying. With what looked to be great effort, he parted open his eyes to narrow slits, and she waited for his vision to adjust.

"Gods, you're beautiful," he croaked earnestly, his brow set in such concentration while his eyes studied her face.

She smiled and moved forward, kissing his poor dry lips, then swung her legs over the bed once Missandei arrived, holding her hands out.

Missandei pulled hers back. "You are to  _ rest _ , young lady. Doctor's orders," she gave her a slightly wide-eyed gesture before glancing down to Dany's belly, which the looseness of her dress managed to obscure the swell there.

"I promise this is all I'm going to do for the next...however many hours."

Sighing at her friend's stubbornness, Missi looked down and seemed to notice Jon had woken, then shot Dany a bewildered face.

Stepping closer to pluck the items from Missi's hands, she spoke quickly and quietly: "he's barely conscious yet; I'll tell him later."

After Missi brought over a glass of water, she went off to tend to another bed. The soft light of the orange sconce near Jon's bed was their only light source in this corner, so they could remain practical but not disturb the resting. Dany manipulated some levers and propped his upper half up enough that he could drink, but not too much that it would agitate his abdominal stitching.

She sat at his side, his eyes closing again, and she smoothed her hand over his cheek. "Stay awake for a minute, my love. Is the light bothering you?"

He nodded, a tiny gesture, so she switched off the light. There was still enough around the other beds that she could see him. "Here; drink this, then I'll take care of you."

She lifted the cup to his lips, cupping the back of his weary head with her other hand, waiting patiently while he took baby sips, and then she fed him three tablets. 

His brow lifted in an attempt to open his eyes, but forgot about the gash and grimaced. "I'm not leaving you," Dany whispered reassuringly, taking his hand and kissing his knuckles before she repositioned him back flat, and as lightly as she could manage, began to spread the balm over all of his injuries, beginning with the corner of his forehead. There was a separate, new scar at his eyebrow, as well as scattered all over his body. Experiences and memories that she hoped didn't pain him, but that she was sorrowful that she couldn't have prevented them. Nobody could have; it was a silly thing to even consider. War was no friend.

But he was here. She had to pinch herself every few minutes, certain she'd wake up from some terrible, infinite dream and find herself in her bedroom, alone.

But that wasn't the case, and she could feel a blubber coming on, swallowing hard against it while she slathered an even layer of the salve over his lower ribcage. When she reached over to the other side some minutes later, she felt a warm hand splay over her back, and as her emotions had been irrepressible as of late, she couldn't help herself but to cry. She tried to be as soundless as she was able, but Jon was reaching for her, and knowing that it hurt him to move so much this soon made her sob into his neck as soon as he cradled her beside him. Somehow she was cognizant enough to not chafe the stitching.

"Sssh," he hushed her gently, his left hand cradling her cheek and the other lightly scratching her scalp. It took her a solid few moments to gather herself, and the wet cough he expelled was nearly enough to make her weep anew. "Dany...tell me this is what we'll be like fifty years from now."

She moved her head back to look up at him with a quivering smile, the prospect of their future the only thing she wanted in the world right now. "What do you mean?"

He swallowed, and she hated how difficult this was for him. "Feeding each other our pills...probably bickering for the other one...to stop forgetting all the time. Probably bickering about everything," he cleared his throat.

She laughed softly, kissing his beard, the lull of his fingers on her head making her drowsy. "If that's what it takes to have fifty more years with you, Jon Snow, then I'm ready to bicker your ears off."

He breathed a laugh through his nose, nuzzling his lips against her forehead with as wide of a smile he could muster. "I love you, Dany. So fucking much."

"I love you more," she murmured, settling her hand over his heart once more before letting sleep take over.

* * *

✈️👗💄🐺

* * *

Sunrise brought many wonderful things: Missandei and a fresh pair of clothes for Dany, her favorite shampoo to she could use the hospital showers without leaving Jon, a large stash of donuts and large coffees, a special homecooked meal for Jon specifically (to which she must not have slept, given that it was roasted turkey, mashed potatoes, and a healthy serving of vegetables), and also the fact that Jon had woken with her.

"I have some news about your brother," Missi began once Jon had enough time to fully absorb consciousness. At news of Robb, his eyes nearly went wide, and Dany was relieved that his head must have gotten some deserved relief. Missi sat at the foot of the bed. "He was brought to another floor, since our beds are full capacity. He is alright - they did have to amputate his left leg from below the knee, and he managed to catch a case of pneumonia, but doctors are optimistic he'll make a full recovery. Just...a little differently."

Jon tried to smile, but it came out more a grimace. "Thank you, Missandei. I appreciate that...all of it," he nodded toward the armfulls of things she'd brought.

With a nod and a blinding grin, she informed them that she was going to return home and sleep for at least a week. Dany got up to thank her a thousand times over before returning to her perch beside Jon, who was regarding her every move with warm affection. There was also, possibly, the slightest wonder in his eyes, and she had to physically move her hands away from where they wanted to settle on her belly. In due time, she would tell him; just a little longer, once he was further along in his recovery. 

She leaned down and pressed her lips to his, pleased to find they were softer, which meant his body was hydrating.

"Are you hungry?" She asked against him.

"Not entirely," he pushed up to kiss her again, "but I know I need to eat."

"Yes, you do."  _ And if you don't, you'll find me devouring this entire dish myself. _

She fixed his bed once more, sitting him up as far as he could manage before placing the tray of food on his lap. He looked far more alert once the smell wafted up his nose, but his movements were still slow to catch up.

"I'm going to shower, but I'm going to bring someone here to make sure you don't choke to death," she smirked at his clear distaste at being in anyone else's care, but it wasn't a staff member she had in mind. Instead, she gathered her clothes and toiletries and fetched General Davos, who was given the clear to discharge today, and sent him on over.

* * *

✈️👗💄🐺

* * *

Upon her return from one gloriously hot shower, she had not expected to be met by two sheriffs when she reached Jon's bed. He looked miserable again, and the only thing keeping her from lashing out at whatever they'd done to disrupt him was their current setting. Even Dr. Baratheon was red in the face that they were present at all.

Dany approached with caution, and the pair and Jon locked eyes with her. "Is...there something wrong?"

"Just doing our duty by bringing you this, miss, on behalf of the Citadel," the one on the right handed her a sealed manila envelope, then had her sign off that she'd received it. She did it all numbly, the burning revolt in her stomach rising once again when she found that Jon had one as well, sitting in his lap.

"The war has been over for a whole...eight hours, and you felt  _ this _ was the proper time to bring us these?” Her voice was raising subconsciously, and General Davos, who had been at Jon’s side, looked just as angry as she felt. She only hoped that if he understood the circumstances, he would fight in Jon’s favor.

“We’re only the messengers, miss, and the Citadel requested these be delivered posthaste. Have a great day,” the other one tipped his hat toward her, and she was near ready to chase after them herself and smack them silly with the envelope if it weren’t for Jon’s weak voice calling for her. Once again, she felt as though she may cry herself into a puddle, but the boiling rage she felt in her blood prevented that just yet.

Dany walked to Jon’s other side where Davos was not stationed, unbinding the envelope and pulling free the papers inside. Indeed, as she had sorely expected, she was being summoned for military court-martial, for ‘knowingly and/or willingly providing a signature upon a false document, to which the accused knew that the signature provided was falsifying documentation, to which the accused provided such signature intentionally.’

Jon had much of the same, though his reached further - for conspiring in the act of falsifying an official government-sealed document (birth certificate) while knowingly/willing understanding it was false; using such documents for own personal gain knowingly/willingly; fraudulently providing a false name against the statutes of military law.

She pressed her eyes closed, hoping to ward off the rising bile that way, and once more had to find a distraction to not rest her hand on her stomach. The outfit Missi had chosen was smart - a loose, royal blue button-down blouse that had a tie at the waist, and a flowy skirt to match. She felt as Jon’s hand caught hers at her side, which dissolved much of her anger.

“We’ll be alright,” he said, his voice almost double the strength it had been just hours ago.

“You don’t know that. Not this time,” she declared stubbornly.

“She’s right, you know,” Davos said pointedly, “those are some major offenses on your part, commander.”

“You’re not angry with him?” Dany asked, while Jon gave her hand a small squeeze. She could already read on his face that Jon wished Davos would stuff it, rather than incite the matter.

Thick, grey eyebrows nearly knit together with Davos looking utterly baffled. “Angry? Hells, I think I’m more impressed. Snow, Sand, Rivers, Hill - what does a bloody surname have to do with weighing ones’ ability to fight in combat? And here we are, on the other end of it, alive and relatively well given how it could have gone. Much of what we conquered wouldn’t have happened without this one,” his head jut toward Jon, to which the praise seemed to make him even more uncomfortable.

Dany nodded, sitting on the edge of Jon’s bed. “Will you speak on Jon’s behalf? I think a statement like that, coming from his own General, would work wonders in at least keeping him out of prison.”

Davos bounced his head to the side for a beat. “I don’t know what I could say that would sway them, but aye. I’ll be there. But for now,” he groaned as he got to his feet, stretching his bones, then came over to Dany. “Thank you for all you did. All you’ve done. She saved a lot of lives, you know. Best thank her properly when you’re all healed,” he affirmed whilst looking meaningfully toward Jon, to which only made Dany’s cheeks hot. Regardless, she moved to stand and gave him a proper hug, which took him by surprise, initially, but then his arms wound around her, too. “See you both in a couple of weeks,” he winked, then went off on his way.

Dany resumed her spot beside Jon, settling her cheek on his bare shoulder. "I'm scared, Jon," she muttered, smoothing her fingers over his collar bone. And she was; if his presence wasn't here to keep her occupied, she might find herself bent over the toilet all day.

"Don't be," he said, voice thick with exhaustion still. He lifted the hand around her back to sit at her hip, nuzzling his chin against her head. "We'll figure it out. I got us into this mess."

Dany sat up to see him, his eyes opening to regard her. "I'm just as responsible. I don't regret it," she said sternly, brows raising gently, which in turn only made his lips tick up. "Do you?"

Jon's hand twirled around a few strands of hair at her back, that glint of mischief peeking through his eyes. "No. I'd do it again if it meant having you."

With a watery smile, she turned his face to kiss him, lingering for as long as his lungs could muster. "Me, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *wipes brow* phew, these kids need a break, right? Well, prepare for a shit ton of fluff (and smut?) next chapter, because I think we ALSO deserve a break from the shit show before the next episode of why-can't-everyone-let-them-be-happy-forever. Hope you enjoyed this one!


	8. Home Is Wherever I'm With You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy this content made of organic 99.9% fluff (also smut)

_Home_.

He was bloody _home_.

Home had felt as distant as another life. As temperamental as shifting sand between his fingers. 

Home was the eye-crinkling smile of Dany’s face that had hardly floundered since he’d been conscious enough to bear witness to once more - in the instances consciousness had found him, anyhow. Even when he woke to hack his lungs out, effectively expelling remnants of debris of both Essos and Westeros alike, she’d been overjoyed to hold a plastic dish before him to help be rid of the stuff. 

Home was Dany tucked at his side, foregoing leaving him at all save for when she needed a quick shower, or washroom break (which had, miraculously, been quite frequent as of late), or when either of them grew an appetite. 

Home was knowing that, while Robb would be one limb short and would receive a stern scolding that he needed to cease his terrible smoking habit, that he would live as prolific a life as any other young man his age. 

Home was receiving news that the remaining forces who had stayed behind to retrieve the deceased were sailing back to Westeros, and Jon would have far less funerals to attend than he knew his heart could take. 

Home was the quiet stillness of Winterfell, the unpolluted breeze, and a mild warmth that only his northern blood could handle.

Home was having Dany practically stapled to his side, whether it be his hospital bed, helping him down to see Robb when he could walk for more than five minutes at a time without his lungs or head rioting, or the train ride to Winterfell.

Home was _not_ , however, being summoned to have his life and his home called into question. And, what was worse, it certainly was not bringing Dany down with him, that he was certain. In two weeks time, he would be fighting tooth and nail, would run himself into the ground to assure that he forever remained in the comforts of home, spending all of the rest of his living years with Dany. Maybe she didn’t know it yet, but his decision was effortless. He’d decided long ago, somewhere between the sea of stars blanketing the peacock blue skies of Pentos, and deep in the sweltering deserts between Vaes Khadokh and the Dothraki Sea. 

Maybe he was just a lowly bastard boy who’d been so devoid of love for so long, he grasped at the opportunity to keep all of her forever, because she devoted her whole self to him, just as he did with her. And that wholeness, he knew, he’d never find again in his lifetime.

Home was finally, blessedly, at long last, seeing his cottage for the first time since he’d left, and seeing it with new, appreciative eyes. A longing in his heart to make it _theirs_ , if Dany so wished. 

Home was Dany, and wherever she went, he would follow.

Their cab driver had been kind enough to assist in carrying their bags to the door, and they tipped him well for it. Before Dany even withdrew the key to the door, Ghost was howling and scratching at the door, whining once metal scraped metal. Luckily, Grenn had met them to greet their return and held Ghost back so as not to aggravate Jon’s healing body.

Immediately, Jon grinned down at the wide, desperate copper eyes, as he knelt down with a grunt so that he could pet him properly. Ghost smoothed his head against Jon’s, tail wagging so violently he feared he’d knock someone over, maybe even himself. Fingers burying into thick white fur, Jon used him as leverage back to his feet, and then Grenn was embracing him as much as he could manage without hurting him.

“You look good!” Grenn exclaimed. “I expected something a little more exciting; you look just as you did when you left.”

Jon saw Dany wince off to the side, brushing off Grenn’s brashness that he was so accustomed to and taking her hand.

“This is Dany. Dany, this is my good friend Grenn, also known as a permanent fixture to my house when I’m not here,” Jon smiled, and Dany held out a hand to greet Grenn, but he unexpectedly pulled her into a hug, as well. There was a peculiar rigidity to the embrace that Jon knew wasn’t related to her being uncomfortable by a stranger, as it passed between both of them, and then was gone nearly as soon as it had become apparent.

They exchanged pleasantries and when Grenn fell into a lengthy discussion about what all he and Ghost had gotten up to, as well as prodding Jon all about Dany, she had softly excused herself to bring their belongings up to Jon’s room, Ghost trailing her from behind.

As eternally appreciative that Jon was for Grenn’s help and support, he managed to ease his friend out of the house without much difficulty. All he wanted to do was rest, _actually_ rest, without disruption. He began the trek up the stairs, which was infuriatingly difficult now against his weary body, but Dany materialized before him to hook her arm around him. Gods, he loved her so, even if he felt ever like a useless weight.

When they reached his bedroom, she returned to the bed where she had begun folding all of his clothes brought back home, as well as her own. He crossed the room and placed a hand on the shirt she’d just begun to lift, meeting her inquisitive eyes. “You don’t need to do that.”

“I want to,” she assured him, lifting his hand to kiss his palm as she then continued to resume her task, so he sat at the edge of the bed while Ghost watched them attentively from the floor.

“You’ve done more than enough, darling. Come lay with me,” he pleaded weakly, tugging on her hand then like a child begging for a toy.

But then, she plucked the sheer, lavender dress from his backpack, where it had lain so long he’d nearly forgotten he had it. Clear mirth glinted in her eyes, dark eyebrow quirked as she held it out for a proper view. A tickling heat crept up the back of Jon’s neck, teeth capturing his bottom lip.

“Jon Snow,” she began cautiously, turning her gaze to him now, a quivering smile of her own dancing on her lips, “what are your intentions with this?”

He lifted a shoulder as a virtuous gesture. “That you might wear it for me so I can tear it off of you?”

Her yelp of laughter was met with pleasingly pink cheeks, brows raising to her hairline. “You are insatiable.”

Feeling cheeky, he grabbed for her waist, but her hands caught his instead and she shifted to stand before him, though a few inches away, and bent down to kiss him. He returned the gesture eagerly, glancing his tongue against her top lip, but then she spoke again, and he stifled a whine.

"Take a bath with me," she muttered against his lips, which only served to both confuse _and_ arouse him. "I get to take your stitches out today."

Jon tilted his head up to see her more clearly, her eyes drifting to the waning lesion on his head, still holding his hands captive in her own. "You know I won't be able to keep my hands off of you if we do that."

She looked down at him then, her lids having grown heavy and pupils fattening, doing him zero favors in withholding ‘ _vigorous strenuous activities’._ "Good. The doctor never said hands were off limits."

He nearly growled, and already his body was reacting. "Then why won't you let me use them?" He asked gruffly, twisting his wrists in her grip.

Dany's smile widened briefly, then tugged at him until he was on his feet. "It's a part of my surprise for you."

Eyes narrowing as he tried to unravel her riddle, he followed her lead to the bathroom whilst she switched on the tap, fiddling with the temperature until it was where she wanted it. Dany manipulated him just so until he stood in the light, then instructed him to stay there a moment. Given he was half erect in his sweatpants, he supposed that was as good a time as any to try and cool down, though he supposed it would be a lost cause once he saw her naked anyway.

Dany returned a minute later, with the tiniest set of silver scissors, and maybe it was the lighting, but she looked different to him just then. And, it wasn't the suppressed giddiness of her helping him strip free of his shirt. But, all thoughts of whatever that difference was was long lost when she grazed the soft pads of her fingers down the length of his chest and abdomen. He knew she was mainly inspecting the smaller knicks where shrapnel had been removed, but it took all that he had to bite back a growl, his teeth clamping his tongue to ward it off. He'd been so deprived of her touch, certainly much more than he'd truly realized now, that every miniscule, innocent grazing of his set his skin alight. He wouldn't have been surprised at all if he found scorched skin trailing down his front.

She seemed to read his tension - perhaps because his muscles tightened and rippled the further down she went - for she lifted her indigo eyes to meet his. "Are you alright?"

There was the slightest teasing note lilting her voice, forcing him to grind his teeth together. "Never better," he managed to say relatively smoothly, though the warm smooth hands over his hips had his cock thinking otherwise as it began to stir. Gods, he was acting like some pure, virginal boy.

She smiled then, and he knew she was being utterly wicked, that dark flicker in her eyes that dropped to the left side of his abdomen. Her hands shifted there then, and he could feel the slightest tug at his skin, looking down to see her pulling free the threads that bound his split skin. It was surprising to him that it defied logic by not causing any pain. The wounds had been healing nicely, at least that's what he'd been told, but all he saw was a war-battered, marred body that used to be his. The long, pink, fused tears at his sides were a cruel reminder of how close he'd been to death, probably one breath away from succumbing to unconsciousness before the bay would have carried him off, lost to the endless black abyss. An involuntary shudder coursed through him, and Dany paused her hands to consider him.

"Does this hurt?" There was concern laced in there, and he just couldn't love her more. 

Jon shook his head. "No," he withdrew a long breath, and she smiled warmly at him before making quick work of removing the stitching, checking now and then for small pieces by rubbing her thumb over the uneven flesh.

"Just…," the words lingered on his tongue, but he found that he couldn't speak them into existence.

Dany's hands cupped his cheeks, and he hadn't realized he had been gazing at nothing in particular, recalling those specific and haunting images. "You don't have to talk about it, Jon. Not until you're ready to, and even then…," she trailed off with a small shake of her head, brows lifting purposefully as if to hope to ease his discomfort. 

He could only smile at her in return, swallowing hard so that the burn behind his eyes would drown with the knot in his throat. Taking a hold of her hands, he kissed them both, then closed his eyes. "I know. I was…," he didn't know why he felt the need to say it; it was common knowledge that most veterans found it impossible to discuss their experiences on the battlefield, were forced to harbor such terrible memories and overwhelming emotions until it ate at them bit by bit. Maybe that was just it: Jon had no desire to deteriorate into nothing but a shell of himself with each passing year. 

He was well aware of the consequences of that over time: a life numbed by prescription medication to help forget the war ever happened, or an institution where he was surrounded by much of the same, with cold meals and cold, thin beds, where they were hidden away from the rest of the world without genuine love or care. Their country had a long journey to go in the way of post-war care that wasn't simply gaslighting vets into believing those experiences were a figment of their warped imagination.

Dany left him only briefly to switch off the faucet, then brought him over to sit at the ledge while she knelt before him, which seemed to take a bit of unusual effort. Resting her arms over his thighs, she held both of his hands and waited patiently, seeming to understand his need to expel this.

Once more, he sucked in a breath of air, gently squeezing her hands, her gaze soft and forbearing. "We were in Yunkai, flying toward the border of Astapor. We'd seen a lot of combat, but this was…," his brow wrinkled, his eyes focused on their joined hands rather than closing them and seeing it replay all over again. "Stealth aircrafts came out of nowhere, and we fended them off for a little while, but they shot me down. Into...into the bay."

He was almost too afraid to meet her gaze now, having set his focus solely on their hands, and when he did, they were lined with unshed tears. His own burned again, and Dany pressed her lids closed and brought both of his hands up to her lips, collecting her stifled breathing. After a beat, he freed his thumbs to sweep away the wetness over the apples of her cheeks, leaning down to plant a lingering kiss atop her head.

They stayed like that for a little while longer, breathing each other in. He'd intended to tell her all about how he escaped, but she seemed to have grasped that well enough, and he had to admit that he felt relieved by that. As Dany was no stranger to being on the frontlines, he was certain she'd heard and seen similar, and worse, results of such horror stories as it was. 

Dany pushed to her feet, meeting him halfway for a tender kiss, holding his face in place, and easing his bunched muscles. "I love you," she whispered against his lips.

Jon settled a hand against her cheek, thumb sweeping just below her eye. "I’d never would have imagined I could love anybody like I love you, Dany."

Her eyes fluttered open once more, and her breathing seemed to pause for a beat before she spoke again. "Close your eyes,” she whispered, the slightest of smiles tugging at her lips.

Skeptical, he did as she asked, listening as she seemed to straighten herself. "Do you think you might have room for another to love in here?" She asked softly, a soft hand landing above his throbbing heart. 

His brow creased, then he grunted. "Your friends are nice enough, Dany, but-"

Dany’s snort and giggle broke off whatever it was he was ready to say, nearly opening his eyes then to see what in the hells she was up to. “No, not my friends, you silly man,” she said humorously, feeling as she manipulated his arms, threading their fingers and then bringing both hands forward, purposefully letting them travel the length of what he could only guess were her sides - it was considerably warmer, and instantly he knew that she'd either lifted or shed her top, making him swallow hard. 

His lingering smile twitched as he tried to piece together this intriguing mystery, but then his heart nearly came to an abrupt halt once he realized that his hands weren't roaming the flat plane of her belly, but a silky soft, gradual swell that was firmer, rounder.

Eyes shooting open, he was level with a now-obvious protuberance, and he had a minimum of ten thousand questions all at once, yet they failed to come to fruition. Instead, with tingling eyes, he sought Dany's face, where she was watching him with wonderment, but that was all he needed to confirm what his slow mind was registering. He dropped his gaze back to her navel, as if expecting to find movement.

"How?” He asked, perhaps more to himself than her.

Palpable amusement painted her features. “Well, first we took our clothes off-”

“No, no, I mean…,” he sniffed, feeling a bubbling sob building in his chest. “How did I not notice?” He _knew_ he had suspected her features had changed just a little, but he had hardly been in the right state of mind to know the difference between sleep deprivation and reality. There was an even sweeter air about her..

Dany shifted her arms so that she could wind her hands loosely around his neck, where his remained on her belly, hypnotized by what grew beneath. “It’s why I’ve been trying to keep you at arms’ length. I didn’t want to share this with you in a public space. The only other person that knows is Missandei.”

Jon gave a small, dazed nod, his hands slowly smoothing over the rounding protrusion.

“Are you happy?” She asked quietly, barely a whisper.

His head shot upward and his eyes and cheeks were wet, and he never remembered the tears falling. He hoped that she found nothing less than love and adoration in his smokey eyes, because his heart was blooming so profoundly. “Gods, Dany, I’m...over the moon. I love you so much,” he sat up straighter and sealed his mouth over hers, one hand coming around to hold the back of her head before she might back away all too soon. Instead, she grinned against him and tightened the hold of her arms around his shoulders. The weight of what all he could have missed had he been any closer to death's grip struck him violently. This would come to be his whole life, now. Never had he imagined any of this - in fact, he'd mostly anticipated he'd live out his days with Ghost if he did manage to survive the war, probably morphing into some type of barbarian with an outrageously long, wiry beard, the same old tattered clothes, and an enormous beer gut, but at least he would have been in peace.

But now...now he had everything, pressing warm kisses over the smooth skin standing before him.

"Let's get in before it gets too cold," Dany murmured into his hair.

He could only nod, not yet trusting his voice, as he assisted in pulling her top over her head. The sight of her nearly half bare before him was enough to make him mad, but he tried to remain civilized.

Until she gave him a particularly heated glance over her shoulder when she turned her back toward, his fingers moving deftly to unlatch her bra. She shrugged it off, letting it fall freely to the floor before turning to face him. Unbidden, his breath lodged somewhere in his chest, drinking her in. Her breasts were heavier, fuller, but that wasn't even what had so greedily stolen his breath; it was that she, all of her, every inch appeared to glow, skin like satin porcelain.

The only thing that breached his ogling was when she began to shuck off the rest of her clothing, to which he promptly followed, until they both stood naked before the other. Somehow, it felt like the first time again, and somehow, Jon's lust-addled mind still remembered there was a bath awaiting them.

He didn't miss the appraising way in which her eyes scoured him from head to toe, and he was less surprised when he turned around to feel her palming his ass. At the very least, he would continue to keep that bit fit and ripe for her fondling pleasure, even if the rest of him grew soft and doughy in old age. He snorted in response, grabbing one of her greedy hands and helping her step in with him.

"This is only lukewarm, even for me," he mused, knowing full well neither of them would last long before it chilled them.

"I know," she sighed, but not without an adoring smile, accepting his hands to sit and nestle between his legs. "My doctor says hot water can disturb the baby, so lukewarm it is."

Immediately he secured his arms around her, and although they had technically only had three days together in total before he had boarded that ship to Essos, he had become so familiar with the feel of her that the swell of her belly still took him by delightful surprise. She leaned back into him, covering his arms with her own while his thumbs smoothed over the warm skin where they lay.

Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to her shoulder, resting them there when she freed her left hand to settle in his hair, her head turning so that her nose rested against his cheek. For a long, blissful several minutes they remained, and had the water been a pinch warmer, he could have fallen asleep like that.

"Do you think it's a boy or a girl?" She whispered, and he could hear her smile even without looking at her.

"Hm," he hummed, rotating his face until they brushed noses. "Both?"

There was a distinct pinch of fingers at his neck, willing a wide smile from the both of them, and Jon reached over to the ledge where a dry cloth lay, wetting it and lathering it with a soap bar while he swept it over her shoulders, lengthwise across her back. "You know, Missi strongly suggested something similar. If _both_ of you are right, I'm letting you each take the night shift," she jested, kissing his cheek.

"We need to pick names. For both, just in case," he smirked, inching forward to capture whatever protest she had with his lips.

"We'll decide together," she muttered, fingers lazily twisting locks of his hair as he washed her down, making quick work of his own skin.

He gathered her impossibly closer, but as he did so, there was a small yet prominent throb against his palm at her navel which stilled him as if he'd been frozen by the water after all. He lifted his head to peer down at where his hands lay.

"Dany," he breathed when she shared a look of concern at him, "did you feel that?"

He knew that she hadn't, with his hand being the barrier between them, but he didn't want to miss this milestone without her. She shook her head, seeming to not understand until he swapped their hand positions and brought both down to each side of her belly.

They waited with bated breath, until a small gasp from Dany and the swift turn of her head to look at him told him that she'd felt it, too. Already, her cheeks grew damp, and Jon nuzzled his face in her neck.

"See, they heard you mention twins, and they're saying there's _no_ way mama can fit _two_ of us in here," she said, her pitch higher with amusement.

"The other one is probably sleeping," Jon returned slyly, kissing her neck, her head automatically falling to the side, so he kissed her below her ear, on the pulse that was quickening there.

Ever so slightly did she shift against him, her backside chafing against his cock, and he bit back a groan by nipping at the thin skin of her neck.

“Jon,” it was half a whimper, half a plea, and more than enough to make him more than half erect, “I’ve suddenly decided I don’t care much for doctors orders.”

He stiffened - in more ways than one - at her words, and he would have swiftly taken her right there if his skin wasn’t pimpling with gooseflesh, or confident that he wouldn’t aggravate the ugly scorned skin at his sides. The notion of scrubbing their hair clean was long abandoned.

“Let me help you out,” he practically groused, and she chuckled against his enthusiasm as he pulled the drain at their feet and once they were safely removed from the tub, Dany wrapped herself snug in a towel, finding his eyes.

“Go sit on the end of the bed. I’ll have another surprise waiting,” she lifted onto her toes and kissed him before almost pushing him out, his hand snatching up a towel to dry himself.

Wrapping the towel around his waist, he couldn’t decide if he was warmer because he was in his warmer bedroom, or if because his blood was rushing so violently south it made him feel feverish with want. Not that it mattered, given they were about to engage in some warm activities at any moment, so long as his damned body could keep up.

Plus, the very fact that they were defying the rules (yet again) was enough to make his head spin. He sat himself at the very end of the bed, back facing the bathroom door, and closed his eyes. It wasn’t too torturously long before he heard Dany open the door, his ears hyper-aware of soft clothing against skin, and then the gentle bounce of the bed when Dany inevitably climbed on.

“Okay. Have at it,” she said rather saucily, and he almost had to gather his wits before even thinking about turning around, but they had waited long enough.

When he turned to find her, he felt decidedly feral, but equally stupefied by her debilitating beauty. Through the single window of his bedroom, the sun had begun setting at precisely the perfect time, setting not only his room alight, but bathing Dany in gold, her brushed and dried hair strands gleaming like starlight. He made no attempt at concealing the way in which his eyes raked over her, from the way the sunlight pierced her eyes like jewels, slipping to where the neck of the gown he’d brought home for her dipped just so between the valley of her breasts, to feasting on how sheer the thin garment was and why Essosi women even bothered wearing something like that to bed, anyway. Blindly, he ripped off his towel, eyes still fixed on the soft curves of her breasts, drifting down to where the material dipped between her lower sternum and where her belly began to rise, something he would _never_ get over seeing as it continued to grow.

Once she settled back onto her elbows, he accepted her invitation by crawling up onto the bed, walking on hands and knees, and her shoulders began to shake at his animalistic nature, his bottom lip firmly caught between his teeth. Suddenly, he was stopped short by her foot stretched against his chest, and he looked up again to see her brows risen, but was barely holding on to her stoicism. “Be _gentle_ ,” she chuckled softly, and he lowered his head to nip at the soft sole of her foot, sending her into a shrieking mess of giggles.

Settling between her legs, he planted a hand at each side of her head while he drowned her musical laughter with his mouth, both of them sighing through their noses at the meshing of their lips moving together. She hummed against him, lowering herself flat and letting her hands roam his body, from his chest, down the corded muscle of his arms.

The slick sweep of her tongue against his lips, beckoning him for entry, ignited a groan from deep within his chest, slanting his mouth further and becoming wildly unchained just by the taste of her. Her legs wound up around his waist, but he wasn’t quite ready to be done with her just yet, separating from her mouth as she chased him, but he was already laving hot, open-mouthed kisses down the length of her. At what he thought to be her most sensitive areas, he lightly plucked her skin with his teeth, soothing it with the flat of his tongue, the cage of his arms and legs around her keeping her writhing form in place below him.

The further down he slid, the louder her desperate mewling became, and the strain on his cock was quickly becoming almost unbearable. He nosed at her breast, drawing a pebbled nipple into the warm cavern of his mouth, tongue swiping over it which sent her back arching upward, her hands gripping the fur throw in pulses.

When he reached his destination, he scooted back a few inches and slid his hands up her creamy thighs, removing the thin material from his view, and was pleased to find her well beyond ripe and ready. With a pointed look up at her, her cheeks and chest a soft-brushed pink between the rising heat of her skin and the light scratched of his beard left behind, she watched him with her plush lips slack, eyes slits. Jon lowered himself then, her legs bending further at the knee and pressing against his head, but he gently eased them away, prodding her receptive pearl with his nose, which had her hips jerk with a soft moan.

“Are you trying to kill me?” She breathed, her voice an octave higher.

Hovering just before her, he grinned cheekily. “I’ve not done anything yet.”

Dany groaned, playfully flustered, and her hands pulled at his hair until he was nestled in her doused folds..

He smiled briefly, cock feeling as though it would soon burst from his pelvis, before he smoothed the length of his tongue downward, through her slit and only teasing the slick heat of her entrance before enclosing her clit with his mouth. His tongue swirled the hardened nub, groaning against her as her breathy cries filled his ears. While his mouth worked away, he slid a digit into her entrance, her voice going so shrill that it went silent at the tail end, her hips rising to seek relief.

When he added a second finger, crooking them until he had her on the brink of pleading, he felt the tension as her body went rigid for a beat, and then she was whimpering his name as she spent, the heat radiating from her blistering. Jon remained where he was, easing her down from her high until she was left a clammy, panting tangle of limbs on his bed.

Rising to his knees, he gripped the edges of the gown between her breasts and with one pull, managed to tear it down the middle.

“Gods, Jon, is this what you’re like when you’re so deprived?” She breathed with levity, her eyes still heavy and dark with desire.

Tossing aside the listless garb, his eyes dined on her fully naked figure once more, then traced back up to her eyes. “Only for you,” he smiled lazily.

Just as he was resuming position to kiss her silly, she had also risen to her knees, nearly pressed against him, then cuffed her clammy hands against his shoulders and spun them so that he was lying on his back. His eyes went wide at the sight of her, inadvertently licking his lips, the taste of her still lingering, while she tossed her hair over her back and mounted his hips.

“Dany - fuck,” he grunted when she ghosted her wet hear over the rigid length of his cock, a terrible but alluring tease, his fingers anchoring at the flesh of her hips. “I’m...n-not going to last long,” his shoulders dug back into the mattress as she sat all of her weight against him, taking her sweet time in torturing him from root to tip.

With one hand flattening beside his head, and the other reaching between them, Dany mouthed against his lips, their eyes fixed on each other as she took control and circled the head of his cock at an agonizing speed, his eyes slamming shut and rolling to the back of his head. Dany’s soft laments came out as puffs and moans against the corner of his parted mouth, and he mustered up enough energy to turn to her, suckling her top lip into his mouth and nearly biting down too hard when she seated him. They whimpered into each other’s mouths, tongues lashing and exploring as Dany freed her hand to bury in his hair, kneading the curls while Jon pulled on her hips until their skin kissed at the hilt.

Dany gathered his lip between her teeth, following his steady, patient rhythm by angling her hips with him, each downward stroke enough to see starbursts behind his lids. Already, he could feel the spring in his spine retracting, begging for release, stilling her hips as he retreated his hips down, down to the ridge of his head before driving into her, though not rough enough that he feared he might jostle the baby.

Her head dropped into his neck, muffling her increasing moans against his skin there, pressing kisses along his collarbone whenever she could spare a second to do so. She then took his hands hostage, sliding them down to her thighs as she sat up, nails digging into his hands as she began to ride him fearlessly, her breasts far too abandoned, so he braced himself upward on one hand and palmed her left breast whilst his mouth sought attention to the right. Since the ache of his sides prevented him from curling too far, she met him half way, easing the strain while she muted her breathless cries into his hair, her hand cradling his face to her chest as he fastened his mouth over her other breast. 

He gathered her taut nipple with his tongue against his teeth, only pinching it as she ground herself against him, her nails scraping deliciously at the nape of his neck. The whines she emitted were going to be the death of him, here on this bed..

Jon’s blood must have been on fire, coating his skin in a cold sweat, lowering his hand as he palmed her clit and brushed his fingers against where they joined, a shuddered gasp forcing him flat against the bed once more. Dany fell with him, pressing her forehead to his, her mouth ajar as if her voice and breaths were caged in her chest just as his. They were restless, unable to stay in one position for long, hungry and aching to draw out this moment but chomping at the heels of release. 

The grasping clench of her walls around him told him she was close, a blessed relief given he felt as though he could black out at any second and never finish either of them off, adding more pressure to her clit with his palm with firm circular motions, in congruence to her rhythm that grew more and more sporadic. Her hot, panting breaths battling against his own, he planted his feet flat against the bed and thrust upward to meet her on her next downstroke, and that sent them both spiraling together, latching his mouth onto hers a his ragged growl ripped from his chest to mingle with Dany's pleading moans, for countless pulses, bodies slowing as they came down from their peak.

Straight afterward, a dull ache was blooming in his head, for good measure it seemed. Still, pacing his breath, he circled his arms around a hair-mussed Dany who'd been observing his state, and rolled them onto their sides. With a pull of his hips, he gently withdrew from her and dragged a blanket up to her shoulders, sliding his end down to his waist. The waft of air that breezed between their dampened skin made Dany quiver, so he did his best to mold himself against her, mindful of the new barrier between them.

Dany smoothed her hair from her face and swept it all behind her, then nestled her face right up to his, only a hairs breadth of space between them. A pleasant pink blush was swept over her cheeks, even as the room was illuminated in the dull blues of the impending evening, his hand lifting to thumb over it.

"I'm afraid I'm unable to move, Jon Snow," she whispered roughly, pressing her lips together in a shy smile.

His brows lifted gently, a grin of his own widening. "Then you best stay right here and recover," he kissed her mouth when she narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously, teeth softly tugging her lip, "we have a lot of time to make up for."

She yelped into a heap of giggles when he guided her onto her back, trailing a line of kisses down her middle until he reached her belly, cradling it with his hands and pressing a lingering kiss at the very top. A sudden burst at the front of his head had him squeezing his eyes shut, dropping his forehead against the warm confines of her skin, and Dany's blissful laughing dying in her throat as she sat up and nurtured him.

Her fingers massaged his scalp, providing a welcome distraction from the beating of his skull. "What if this something more serious?" He blurted, his harbored fears finding shelter on his tongue.

"No," Dany insisted softly, tugging on him to lay with her under the furs while Ghost padded into the room and settled himself at their feet. Dany cradled his face to her chest, her hands resuming their tender massage against his scalp. "Concussions can take a long time to heal. Your body is going to need time to heal whether you had a head injury or not."

Jon concentrated on nothing but her voice, the gentle circular ministrations in his hair, and his breathing. He didn't know why he felt so overcome with emotion, why just now, letting himself be coddled like a child as he slipped his hand over her and resting his hand along her back. "It wasn't just this one," he somewhat wiggled his brow, where his hairline wound was recovering from the boulder that had burst through the windshield of his (or rather, Theon's) plane. He'd never grasped how in the seven hells he'd been capable enough to ground his plane before blacking out. Or getting killed soon afterward. "I got whiplash when my plane hit the water, in Essos."

He felt as she dipped her head and kissed his, leaving her lips lay there while she spoke. "It might get worse before it gets better," she murmured, "but it will get better. I suppose I ought to be a stricter home nurse," he could feel her lips tug upward in a smile.

"No," he whispered, his own mouth twitching as well, "I prefer you as you are."

"You're going to get us both in trouble," her voice was thick with humor, and he carefully lifted his head so that he could find her in the now-dark room, which was a blessing on his sensitive brain, but he could just make out the glimmer in her watchful eyes amid the dull blue of moonlight outside, crinkled with a cheeky smile.

"Don't underestimate me," he said gruffly, burying his face in her neck and kissing at the pulse below her jaw, nipping the skin, relishing in her breathless laugh and the warmth of their skin pressed together. Despite his persistent pounding head, he would have no trouble having her to himself all night, but he knew that they both desperately needed sleep. That, and the fatigue that followed when it waned was enough to immobilize him (though he would _not_ mind if Dany decided to take charge and use him as she pleased), but now they had a third person whose wellbeing they must consider.

He pulled back to kiss her with tender fervor. "I love you," he whispered, kissing her once more for good measure, then laid his face at her sternum, his arm looping protectively just under the rise of her belly.

"I love you more," she replied, threading her fingers through his hair. He was ready to combat that, to tell her that what she meant to him could never be conquered, his love for her infinite. But looming sleep made his tongue heavy. With her heartbeat in his ear, his child tucked safely in its womb below his arm, and Dany's fingers slowly soothing his ache, he found a comfort that he'd never known could exist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, initially I thought this would be 10 or less (fewer) chapters, but obviously that isn't the case 😂 I'm thinking maybe somewhere around the 15 chapter area, but we shall see! As always, thanks for reading, and I hope everyone has a safe and lovely week.


	9. Overture

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter of straight-up fluff and smut before we get down to to nitty gritty of addressing these kids being naughty (a.k.a. the trial).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did a very brief once-over on this one, so I apologize for any mistakes! I hope it's coherent 🙈

  
  
  
Dany was sure that waking up any other morning had never made her smile quite as large as this one had. Even if much of that was spent soothing Jon between his fitful wakings, which she could only presume was a consequence of nightmares by the way his skin had dampened and face contorted - it was waking up beside him that sent a flurry of delight in her belly.

She knew she should have convinced him to take the poppy, but he had been so insistent against it in the hospital, and they had both fallen asleep so quickly.

She had risen just after the sun, and after an hour of laying beside Jon, in knowing he was finally in a deep and peaceful sleep at long last - his body curled into her front as she had held him, her fingers tracing feather-light touches over his skin;  _ bliss _ \- she swung her legs off the edge of the bed and drew his curtains further closed to let him rest as long as he was able. In the bathroom, she found a cloth and washed away the aftermath of their lovemaking from the night before, then slipped on one of the only dresses that still fit her properly, tugged a spare throw blanket from Jon’s armchair around her shoulders, pressed a kiss to his cheek, and slipped out of the bedroom while Ghost remained in Jon’s company.

It felt that day by day, her center gravity was growing heavier, almost tipping her off balance when she wasn't completely concentrating on her steps. One thing was for certain: she had become clumsier because of it, and knew that her love for high heels would need to come to a halt until after the baby arrived.

As she slowly roamed around the cottage, rooms filled to the brim with such caring hands and years of love that was purely Jon's doing, she smiled warmly, absorbing all of the photographs she had missed the last time she was here. She knew of his childhood abandonment, that Robb had been his only person in his life after his uncle Ned had passed, but it still saddened her that he didn’t have the family that he should have, or could have had. She wanted, more than anything, to help provide that for him now, to nurture it and let it grow so long as that was something he desired.

Perhaps she was feeding into a part of herself that experienced a similar loneliness most of her life, wherein the only person she had considered her family anymore had been Rhaegar before his untimely death.

She found her way into the kitchen, to the three large windows that illuminated the mounted wooden shelves which boasted several of Jon’s trinkets. The memory of her and Jon speaking over the phone every night all those months ago felt like it could have been a century past, her eyes studying all of the knick-knacks that his uncle Ned had collected for him over his travels - most of them familiar to her now because Jon had a story for each one, typically about how his adoptive father had come by them, and from where he picked them up.

Her eyes drifted upward to the expansive yard, nestled further out by tall Ironwood trees. It looked to be a beautiful morning, the soft light of dawn still tucked behind the trees, but painting bits of the exposed yard in clementine orange. She went off to the rear door, quietly unlocking it, though Ghost must have had perfected the art of hearing. He appeared so suddenly at her side, he'd made her jump out of her skin, pressing a hand into the soft depths of his thick fur while his tail swayed affectionately at her.

Once she pulled the door open, Ghost trotted off, bound to take care of his private business while Dany stood on the flagstone patio, breathing in the crisp morning air. Her lungs felt like they breathed easier here, like there was less junk to filter out in comparison to the capital. The silence was most appealing - the only sounds that filled the air were those of birds singing their good morning, the gentle rustle of the trees, and Ghost's occasional snort when he smelled something he didn't seem to particularly care for.

It was serene. She felt like she could get used to this very quickly.

For a long while, she just stood at the edge of the patio where it met the grass, the chilly dew tickling her toes. She watched Ghost, mesmerized by how when he stepped into the sun, he seemed to glow brighter than the giant star itself. He was a beautiful thing, agile, yet she had no doubt that he could snap someone's neck if they so much as lifted a finger toward Jon, or anyone he cared for.

Her eyes landed on the overgrowth of vines and flowers that were trying to bloom beneath the strangulation, curling and snaking over and around the half-wall of stone that surrounded the patio. She wondered if Jon had grown them himself, and why Grenn had not bothered keeping them up, though she wouldn't expect most men to think of such things. 

A damp nudge at her knees followed by a dull thud sent her attention downward, grinning brightly seeing Ghost had dropped a thick branch at her feet into the grass. She knelt down - which was becoming something of a sport itself - taking the stick in one hand and smoothing her hand over his head in the other. The outermost layer of his fur was damp from his frolicking.

His tongue lolled to the side, a thin puff of steam emitting from his large mouth. Smiling, Dany braced her hand on the wall for support, and rose to her feet.

"Ready?" She asked him, trying to sound enticing about it, though her experience with dogs was nil. "Go!"

With a heave, she thought she had thrown it a decent distance, but Ghost appeared entirely nonplussed. In fact, he didn't even move, only sat there watching her, his gentle panting mouth mocking her in what appeared to be a large cheeky grin. "Well, go on, then," she swished her hand outward. He only cocked his head at her, and when she tried again, and failed, she sighed good-naturedly.

"He means for you to get it." Jon's gruff voice, thick with sleep, made her gasp sharply, settling a palm over her jumpstarted heart. It only quickened when she turned around to take him in - he'd left his shirt behind, his cotton pajama bottoms clinging low on his hips, his curls ruffled curls astray, and a relaxed smile on his lovely lips that only spread when she turned to face him.

Ghost trotted over to Jon and pressed his large head to Jon's thigh, receiving a good scratch in return, before Jon crossed the patio to envelop her in his muscled arms. She smiled tenderly up at him, resting her palms on his chest as he dipped his head and kissed her lavishly, his lips warm against hers that had become slightly cold now. That was how he always kissed her, now, as if this were both the first time and the last. Generous, thoughtful, and not willing to give her any less.

"Well, good morning to you, too," she murmured against him, shivering against the contrast of his body heat versus the chilly northern air. "Why does your dog not act like a dog?” She tweaked her eyebrow in Ghost’s direction.

“It’s his way of showing you that he likes you,” Jon replied, lips ticking up, “he’d much rather chase game out of the yard.”   
  
Dany grimaced. “Well, I certainly hope he doesn’t mean to drop any of that at my feet. Are you feeling better?" She dragged her eyes upward to study his eyes, which always weighted heavily whenever a headache had disabled him, but they looked as beautiful and stormy as ever.

"Aye," one corner of his mouth ticked upward, only to sink a moment later, "a hard night, though."

Dany nodded her understanding, closing her eyes against the light tracing of his fingertips against her cheek before tucking a wayward strand of hair behind her ear. "You were restless. Was it bad dreams, or your head?"

He sighed longily, pressing her flush against him, igniting a soft chuckle from him when her stomach created a slight barrier between them. Even for her it was strange; she'd purposefully avoided this close of contact each day before yesterday, and it was an odd sensation that her belly should reach him before the rest of her did. It would only be a matter of time until she was practically bending herself in half just to embrace him. "I kept seeing it...the war. Some of it wasn't real; not my actual memories. But too much of it was."

With Dany's cheek pressed firmly against his chest, she nodded, keeping her arms bundled against him for warmth.

"But I remember you," he muttered, having ducked his head to press his lips into her hair. "That was the only thing that kept me from giving up on sleep.”

“We still have milk of the poppy,” she suggested, waiting for his anticipated rejection of the proposition.

When she felt his mouth move into what she could only assume was a grin, she pulled back enough to see him, eyes narrowing at his grimace. “There’s a good reason why I don’t take that stuff anymore.”

She ran through the side effects in her head: delirium, drowsiness, lingering fatigue, dry mouth...none of which she could think were  _ too _ intolerable. “The suspense is killing me. Why are you blushing?”

Jon drew in his lip between his teeth, and she brought her hands up to cradle his face, grinning madly now. “I, uh...I was given some against my will in Essos, when I got shot in my leg. And, well…,” he sighed, then groaned. “I had some very, very intricate dreams. Involving you. And me.”

Her mouth formed an ‘o’ shape, her nod slow as she quickly understood his meaning, giggling over his utter look of humiliation. “That’s nothing to fret over. What were we doing?”

“Dany,” he drawled with a plea, “don’t,” he mumbled, burying his forehead against her shoulder, his hands shifting to lay at her hips.

There was absolutely no way in the seven hells she was letting  _ this _ go. This was far too much fun. “Tell me,” she said, feigning a tone of sweetness, purposely smoothing the pads of her fingers over his pectorals, back up along his shoulders, which rolled back at her touch.

“Can’t,” he bit out, and she tilted her head so that she could look between them, trailing her fingers further downward until they were halfway down his abdomen.

“Why not?” Her voice was nearly a whisper now, but the coy smirk remained. He was getting restless.

“You know why,” he rasped, his grip on her hips tightening when she lowered her hands to his navel, stopping near his belly button.

“I’m afraid I don’t, commander” she replied innocently, moving to step closer, but he had her nearly in a vice grip, cemented in place. When she dropped her eyes lower, she could see him growing hard beneath the cotton pajama pants he wore, biting at her lip.

“Because I’ll want to do those things as soon as I’ve spoken them into existence,” he practically panted, her fingertips tracing the hem to his pants now. “And...doctor’s orders...remember?”

The hot breaths of his mouth against her skin made her quiver as she slipped her hand into the warmth of his pants, his cock at full attention, as she feathered the side of her index along the silky skin. A rumble sounded from his throat, his head moving so that his lips could suction against her neck, making her shoulders rise at the unexpected tickle.

“I said I didn’t care for them...remember?” She tilted her head to the side as he dragged his mouth up to her jawline, knowing they were being reckless when it came down to Jon’s physical health, but there were ways around it, just as last night when she’d taken over. “Show me.”

Without any warning, she yelped with surprise as Jon promptly began to pull her towards the house, seemingly undaunted by the extra weight at her middle.

“Ghost,” Jon called, “inside  _ now _ .”

* * *

✈️👗💄🐺  


* * *

Show her, he did, by the gods.

The man had stamina, that much was for certain, as she lay sprawled out decidedly unglamorously over his kitchen countertop, still trying to catch her breath. She was realizing that pregnancy fueled her ache to have him, which would explain why she couldn’t find it within her to scold him for overexerting himself. Though, truthfully, he had been as gentle as possible, despite his choice of location. 

Jon still had her legs hooked around his elbows lazily, his forehead against her chest, pressing soft kisses between her breaths inbetween his own puffs of air. Dany combed her fingers through his disheveled hair, shivering when he extracted his softened cock from within her satiated depths. He helped in bringing her back upward - she was at the point now where she was as moveable as a turtle on its shell, at this point - and he kissed her sweetly, splaying his fingers over the roundness of her stomach.

“Do you know where a lady might find some clothes around here?” She murmured against his lips.

He pulled away and looked down toward his feet, then back to her, a cheeky glint in his eyes. “On the floor of my kitchen.”

Dany pinched his back, catching her lip between her teeth. “I mean  _ shops _ , Jon Snow. I can’t very well prance around here in the flesh.”

His brow wrinkled considerably. “Why not?”

“I don’t think Ghost would appreciate it,” she stifled a snort; he looked so very genuinely upset, nearly pouting.

“There’s neither a man nor creature in this country that wouldn’t appreciate it, darling,” he dipped his head down and kissed her cheek, lingering there a moment before he knelt down and collected her discarded dress whilst pulling his own pants back on, helping her slip into it and preventing her hair from getting caught in the back zipper.

A simple gesture, but so attentive. “I love you,” she whispered, accepting another mouth-crushing kiss as he lifted her from the counter and set her back on her feet. Her legs continued to feel as though she’d just ran ten miles, thanks to Jon’s attentions.

“I love you more,” he returned, pecking her mouth so that she couldn’t argue that that was  _ her _ line. “Wintertown. That’s the closest we have to shops and the like, about forty-five minutes from here.”

Dany exhaled a long breath, looping her arms around his middle. “I desperately need new clothes before I start busting out of the ones I have. And for the trial, too,” she grimaced at the thought. At least her vomiting had begun to wane, which would benefit her in a court room. Unless, perhaps, that could garner her sympathy, thus letting them both off the hook.

“I’m still opposed to any clothing whatsoever, but we can go there today. I needed to make a stop there anyway.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, and she could feel the pull of his lips that were pressed against her head.

“Always so mysterious.”

* * *

✈️👗💄🐺

* * *

Wintertown was wonderfully charming.

It reminded her of a more rustic, old market place of King’s Landing, only less balmy and the colors more cool. Shops and taverns lined cobblestone streets in a large maze, winding every which way. Jon gave her a small tour of all of the boutiques, pointed out specific landmarks so that she wouldn’t get lost, then promised he would meet her at the ice cream parlor once his secret mission was completed. She tried to press him on the drive, but he only skirted around it, so she gave up.

It took her a few attempts to find a shop that agreed with her taste, as well as her growing size. Though she didn’t have much to be picky, she did want to avoid looking like a frumpy old betty, so she plucked pieces that were cinched or belted, some adorned with cute scalloped collars, others with even cuter patterns. For the upcoming trial, she wanted something that was bold, to prove to the judge and jury that she was no meek woman who intended to bow and break and submit to some powerful overlords.

After a few minutes of indecisions, she found the one: a red lace pencil dress, with quarter sleeves, and a sweetheart bust. It was modest in the breast, though she was losing much control over that these days anyway. It took another several long minutes to try them on, to ensure she could at least somewhat grow into them before buying anew again. Once they were purchased, she wandered outside to the agreed meeting spot, bags in tow, shielding her eyes from the sun while she scanned the area.

A sudden bristly sensation at her neck behind her had her shriek, familiar arms catching her around her waist. Dany wheeled around on Jon, who was chuckling, clearly pleased with himself.

"Seven hells," she wheezed through a grin, gently swatting his arm, "you could've had me going into labor right in the plaza."

Jon blanched suddenly, and she wondered if she had put the fear of the seven in him with such a comment. “That just made me realize that the nearest hospital is over an hour away from home.”

Dany smiled, setting her bags down and cradled his face in her hands, uncaring of others about their affectionate public displays. “We still have plenty of time until we need to worry about that.” She pecked his lips lightly, reaching for her bags, but Jon already had them.

“I want to take you somewhere,” he said, circling his arm around her back and leading her to seemingly nowhere in particular.

“You’re giving Sherlock Holmes a run for his money today. What are you up to?” She pinched his ribs, though she, disappointingly, never got a reaction. He was far too muscled, whereas she was far too ticklish.

“Who says I’m up to anything?” He deflected weakly, with the most precarious timing as a cab rolled up to the curb, with Jon waving him down.

Eyes narrowing, she watched him critically as the trunk popped and he carefully set her purchases in there. He then helped her ease into the back seat with him, passing a note with his handwriting scribbled on it to the driver, sending Dany a neutral smile as he buckled in beside her.

After a few moments of staring out the window, in search of landmarks she may have remembered from last time, which she certainly did not, she had a sudden surge of nostalgia. “This is beginning to feel all too familiar. When you took me to fly.”

He moved to look at her then, leaning as far as he could while she met him halfway to kiss him tenderly. “Tell me your secrets, Jon Snow,” she whispered against him, but he couldn’t be fooled, even when she kissed him urgently, sliding her tongue over his lips. Stubbornly, he pulled away, leaving her sitting like a distressed, pouty child while he observed her humorously. “Fine. I guess you won’t get mine tonight, then,” she teased, waiting for some sort of reaction.

Jon nipped at his lip for a moment, considering. “You’re a filthy liar,” he chided good-naturedly, “and terrible at persuading me of anything. We both know who is getting naked later.”

Dany squeezed his hand, eyes going wide as she shot her eyes up in the rearview mirror of the cab, but the driver didn’t seem to notice anything had been said over the low volume of the radio. Then, she acknowledged Jon once more. “Yes. That ‘who’ is you. I’m afraid I’ve neglected your bum since you’ve been conscious enough for me to worship it.”

His lips twitched into what should have been a smile, but he truly was not going to let her win. “Aye, but the requirement is that both parties are naked. No exceptions.”

Dany made a show of sighing, laying against the back of the seat and bringing her hand up to smooth over his beard. “In that case, I suppose I ought to tame you. Get it out of your system before I’m far too large to keep up.”

Jon mirrored her position, resting his head at the backrest so that they were nearly eye-to-eye. Gods, he was beautiful. She would never get over how objectively beautiful he was. Everything, every feature, every scar and tiny blemish, to the depths of his soul. If she weren’t already pregnant, she would be sure there was no more room to love another as much as she loved Jon Snow. “We’ll just have to get creative,” he whispered, brow raising ever so slightly.

“I’ll leave the logistics up to you, since you proved this morning that you have quite an imaginative mind,” she smirked at how, finally, he was becoming affected, though now they had forgotten all about their original banter and were just acting entirely far too horny during a cab ride to...somewhere.

“I’ve already got some ideas,” he rasped quietly back to her, the side of his index tracing along her jaw.

“If we didn’t have company, we’d be naked already,” she said, half in part just to get a rise out of him, which seemed to be working in her favor where his trousers were concerned, and the darkening of his eyes.

“Here you are, folks,” the driver’s voice was so startling, it seemed they both forgot he was there, even despite having just mentioned as much.

“Fuck,” Jon mumbled, and Dany couldn’t help but giggle at his helpless predicament, his hand hastily slipping beneath his pants to adjust himself.

“Sorry, sir, but this did read as 132 Nightwood Drive, correct?” The driver called over his shoulder, forcing Dany to turn away and bite her tongue so as to not burst into a fit of laughter.

“Aye, that’s correct,” Jon muttered, handing a few bills to the man. “We won’t need much time, maybe fifteen minutes.”

Dany watched closely as things unfolded, the driver nodding and Jon rounding the rear of the car to open her door and assist her out. She didn’t think she was quite at that point yet, until it took her two tries to get on her feet.

When she looked up, she was left even more bewildered. It was a residential house, quaint but certainly quite old. It was the only house on the vast expanse of land that she could see, aside for a barn out in the distance, edged on the border of the property.

“Last time I was here, I had just turned eighteen,” Jon pondered aloud, linking their hands together as he began to walk them through the grass. She would have challenged it had there been any sign of life, but it was evident nobody resided here in some time. Much of the porch and siding were overrun by various vines and shrubbery, the grass so overgrown it reached the middle of Dany’s calves.

But realization dawned on her quickly. “This was your home.”

Jon nodded up ahead, toward the barn, and the memory of what all he had shared with her over the phone for those weeks in between their meetings overwhelmed her. “Aye,  _ that _ was my home. Well, my real home was the one that came before it, but…”

Dany nodded slowly, bringing her other hand to cling to his arm as they strolled together. The structure looked uninhabitable as it stood now, row of wooden planks either missing or hanging by just its nails, much of the roof having caved in or blown off. The top windows were blown out, and one half of the doors were missing.

They stopped some yards away from it, and Dany hadn’t even noticed that she was no longer attached to Jon as she tried to picture him as a younger boy living in such conditions. “Are you planning to buy it back?” She asked, turning her head only to see that he was no longer standing beside her, but kneeling before her in the grass.

She blinked, suddenly going both very cold and very hot in equal measure, her skin prickling in gooseflesh but becoming clammy simultaneously. He took a hold of her hand again, his thumb sweeping over her knuckles as he placed a lingering kiss there, stared at it for a beat, then drifted his eyes back up to hers. It looked as though he were on the verge of crying, a new shine emerging in them. She couldn’t even speak.

“Dany,” he opened, “there wouldn’t be enough lifetimes to tell you how much you mean to me.”

She pressed her jaw tightly, her eyes already burning. If she wished to remain standing, she needed to willfully remind herself to breathe, but that was difficult, too.

“Before I met you,” he continued, his voice warbling only a little, “I had nothing. No, I mean that,” he assured her as she went to protest. “Truly. Most of my life, I had been a failure. Not necessarily at any fault of my own, but for prejudices that were held against me before I even drew my first breath. I had my uncle Ned, aye, but he struggled to find a school to place me in, to accept me. My stepmother would have preferred if I'd spent the rest of my days at Castle Black. I had Robb, but she made sure that she intervened at any opportunity, to isolate me as much as possible. I don't even know my other cousins."

Dany understood from the get-go what this was, but she loathed watching him begin to crumble too far away from her for her liking. She carefully lowered herself with his help, sitting with her legs tucked into her side, whilst Jon shifted so that he was no longer bearing weight on one knee. As he continued, she held his hand in her lap.

"This," he gestured his head to the barn house behind them, "would have been the best quality of life I would have had, had I not met you. Living hand to mouth, deciding whether my measly wages should go toward my next meal or rent, under a leaking roof that was probably too expensive to fix. A lonely bastard with no hope for a wife or children because I couldn't provide for them."

His gaze was piercing. "Dany, you've not only given me the only dream I ever had - my wings and a wreckless form of selflessness-" she let out a watery chuckle, "a reason, a  _ real _ reason to laugh all the time, to find joy in this shit world...but you've also provided me a life I never could have imagined even in my wildest dreams, and I tend to have some fucked up dreams." 

Her grin was so unsteady now, she feared she'd sob at any given moment. Her face was already dampened by warm tears, and Jon paused to take her in, hands rising to sweep away her tears.

"But, as stupid and reckless as some of the choices we made together were, I would make them over and over again, for the rest of my life, if it meant always having you in the end." He leaned onto his side and retrieved a small black velvet box from his back pocket, and now she had to free her hand to wipe her swollen and burning eyes, cupping her hands over her mouth to suppress a blubber, her heart pounding away like a mallet against her sternum.

"Daenerys Targaryen," he purred, the corners of his lips pulling upward. She was far too entranced by his sweet face (not to mention half blind by tears) to even loom at the ring he was displaying for her. "Would you do me the honor of my life by continuing to make stupid and reckless decisions with me as my wife?"

She'd already begun nodding before he had made it halfway through the proposal, her voice lost and drowned in the depths of her knotted throat, burying her face in his neck when he collected her into his arms and held her there. She exhaled a heavy, strangled breath against his skin, tightening her arms around his shoulders. 

After a few moments, once she was no longer a tearful and snotty mess, Jon pulled back to plant kisses all over her face, from her forehead to her eyes to her nose to her chin. He concluded with a tender kiss to her lips, lingering there until he captured her left hand and lowered it near his lap. They broke away, looking down between them, and she gasped, feeling another round of weeping coming on. It certainly didn't help her case that her hormones were as level as a rollercoaster.

"Gods, Jon, this had to have cost a fortune," she squeaked as he slid the ring onto the proper finger. 

"Do you like it?" He looked up hopefully at her beneath his lashes.

" _ Like _ it? I've never worn anything so fine," she cooed, lifting her hand to get a closer look at it, to absorb how it caught the light. It was a rose gold band, each side inlaid with tiny diamonds, the gemstone itself a circular, stunningly beautiful topaz. The halo that it was set in was made to mimic the petals of flowers, which were also accented by little diamonds. "Is this what you needed to go into town for?"

The small huffed laugh made her look up, brow arching. "No," he said, almost humorously, running a nervous hand through his thick mane, "I got this three weeks after I met you."

Dany's face twisted into one of shock, eyes bugging despite their heaviness. "What?" She whispered, her cheeks aching from the permanent grin stretching her face wide.

Jon nodded, pulling his bottom lip in between his teeth. "I thought I was foolish to hope. I couldn't decide whether or not to ask you before the war; then I decided...well, you know how I felt about making promises prematurely."

She traced her thumb over his lips before replacing it with her own, his arms wrapping her up fully and pressing her flush against him.

"We should probably get back before our cab leaves us here," he murmured. Still untrusting of her voice, and numbed by a pleasant shock, and nodded and let him help her to her feet.

* * *

✈️👗💄🐺

* * *

The ride home was peacefully quiet - probably a godsend for their driver - as Dany was transfixed at the clarity of the ring, the glint of every angle and how it caught the light. At some point, Jon began to doze, no doubt exhausted by his fitful night of sleep and the overall excitement of the day. When his head lay heavy atop hers, she quietly asked their driver if he wouldn't mind driving mindlessly for a bit longer, promising a generous tip, to which he gladly accepted.

Dany knew that if he was severely sleep deprived on top of recovering from a possible double concussion, it would only slow his healing time. That, and he would need to be able to withstand their upcoming tidal without becoming debilitated by pain.

It was another hour before Jon woke, groggy eyes trying to figure out what was going on, landing on Dany as a silent question.

She smiled. "You needed to rest, so we've been circling the area until you woke up."

"That's going to be one expensive fare," his voice croaked as they headed back down Jon's street.

"I've got it," she promised, kissing his cheek, and smoothing that frown from his brow. The payment was already clutched in her hand so he wouldn't have a mind to beat her to it.

After they returned home, Ghost danced around them, earning plenty of scratches and apologies for leaving him for so long. She followed as Jon took Ghost out into the yard to help him burn some of his pent-up energy, discovering that Ghost was more fond of retrieving and returning balls than sticks.

“Jon,” Dany called, looping her arms around his firm torso as he hummed in return, “I’ve only just realized...what are we to do about living arrangements?”

Ghost dropped the ball into Jon’s hand, half running sideways as he prepared for the next launch. Jon’s other arm came to circle around her back. “That was going to be my next surprise for you. If you wanted it, that is.”

She lifted her chin to consider him, but he was already fumbling around in his pocket until he plucked a shiny silver key from it, offering it out to her. At this point, she was going to cry herself dehydrated, gingerly taking it from him.

“We don’t have to stay here - we could find a place in or closer to the capital, so you can keep working at the hospital-”

“No,” she breathed, and for a moment she realized, as his face fell, that he thought she was saying no to living with him at all, “I mean, no, I want to get out of King’s Landing. It’s no place to raise a family,” she smiled when his shoulders sagged in relief, tossing one more ball out for Ghost before giving her his full attention. “I want to stay here with you. And Ghost.”

He began to smile, but she could  _ see _ him thinking. “What about your work? You don’t have to if you’d like that better; I don’t know how far my savings will stretch, but I’ll find a way to get a proper, good-paying job. Gods, I don’t even know if we’ll both be here after the trial.”

All she could do was smile, because even in knowing how impossible of a feat it had been to secure a job alongside his birth name in the past, all those years of being turned down and having doors slammed in his face, all he wanted to do was to be present in her life, even if that meant he would struggle for it. And, the silly man still underestimated her ability to be persuasive when the time called for it; she wasn’t going to relent and let either of them rot behind bars even for one minute. She gently shook her head, moving her arms and locking her hands behind his neck. “First, we  _ will  _ be here. Both of us. There’s absolutely no way I’m giving birth in a prison cell,” she softened when he did. “And, I was never meant to be a housewife, my love, but I love you for offering anyway. I’ll take some time off once the baby is here, and figure something out then. If the commute to the hospital here is too much, there’s always the option of poor houses, physician offices, or traveling visits to patient homes is a growing market. And, who knows, maybe we can defy expectations and  _ you _ can be the housewife, if you’d like. On the condition that you’re wearing only the sexiest lingerie every day I come home from work.”

Jon snorted, dipping his head to claim her lips. “I’d like to see  _ you _ in sexy lingerie.”

“Oh?”

She took his hum against her as confirmation as he watched her, as if expecting her to drop her clothes right then and there.

“Well,” she sighed overdramatically, “how about we eat dinner first, and go from there?”

Little did he know the surprise she had intended to give him later  _ are  _ some rather scandalous pieces she had picked up.

* * *

✈️👗💄🐺

* * *

The actual cooking of their meal had gone from bickering as to  _ who _ would do the actual task itself, to stubbornly bashing heads and fighting for space in the kitchen (‘accidental’ breast groping, ass fondling, and violent makeout sessions- it was a wonder anything got cooked nor burnt at all), before they had settled on just competing against one another. In turn, they wound up making two completely opposite dishes. For Dany, she thought it might be fun to introduce Jon to a meal that she and her girlfriends made regularly, and she was happy to discover his pantry was well-stocked: lemon herb-crusted smoked salmon, roasted sweet carrots, with a side of a small fruit tart.

Jon, however, went full-on Northern: roasted chicken with figs, deviled eggs, and something called a winter salad with feta dressing.

Needless to say, they spent much domesticated time in the kitchen, sharing the oven and stovetop, and Dany found it entirely delightful. Jon found several candles and dimmed the lights once they were lit, creating as romantic of an atmosphere as was possible with their limited means at the moment. In the end, they’d wound up curating a celebration dinner. The only thing missing was the wine, but Jon promised he would bring her the finest Dornish Red he could find when they would eventually come to welcome the birth of their child.

To boot, they both enjoyed every bit of the shared meals, though Jon proposed in the near future that Dany try more of the more outlandish dishes, such as rabbit stew or venison, but the thought alone of either made her belly threaten to revolt.

She agreed that she would try it someday under the condition she was very, very drunk.

They ate in amicable silence; Dany’s appetite the past few days had become almost embarrassingly ravenous, and she practically had tunnel vision where food was concerned. Afterward, she insisted she would clean up while Jon took Ghost out for one more round of play, and then she trudged her way upstairs to wait for him, the weight of the baby in addition to a full belly was having her get good use out of the railing.

While Jon was absent, she collected the garments she intended to surprise Jon with, an added bonus that were in celebratory mode. She slipped off her dress and undid her braids, brushing through the tendrils until they rested in soft waves down her back. After she had fit on the pathetic excuse for lingerie on, she splashed some warm water on her face, switched the lights off, and took to her post on the bed in the dark.

And, with five minutes to spare, she could hear the sounds of Jon shuffling downstairs to make sure the house was all locked up. When she could just barely make out his silhouette in the doorway, she did her best not to giggle at his confused state, trying to find his way without tripping over anything.

“Are you asleep?” He asked into the room, pausing.

“Of course not. Follow my voice,” she said softly, crawling on her knees to the end of the bed with her hands outstretched. He found them without incident, the only source of light the extremely dim, clouded moon outside the window. The only thing she could truly make out was the glint in his eyes, and she watched carefully as she pulled him closer, then lowered his hands to fill his palms with her silk-and-lace-covered breasts.

A forced breath of air escaped him as he froze only for a beat, his thumbs sweeping over her pebbling nipples, her teeth capturing her bottom lip at the sensitivity of his touch. “Are you modeling the lingerie you’re planning to make me wear?”

He barely even got the words out, and despite their kitchen counter escapade that morning, he still acted like a man starved. She was no different, however, reacting to every touch and gesture as if she’d never been so before. She nodded, then remembered he couldn’t quite see her. “Mhm,” she managed, reaching forward to bunch his shirt in her hand and pull him further onto the bed.

It sunk slightly as he crawled up by his knees, his curious hands roaming down her bare sides, mapping down the curve of her back and over the matching set of panties. She gripped the hem of his shirt and helped him be rid of it, while he looped a strong arm around her abdomen to pull her flush against his warming skin, his other tangling in her hair to bring her face to his in a hot kiss.

She moaned as her taut nipples chafed the hard planes of his chest, spurring him on as he backed her up further so they weren’t quite so close to the edge and obtaining (and further explaining) sex-related injuries. His hungry lips spread hers open to taste her, reaching his tongue as far back into the cavern of her mouth as he could, their breathing increasingly labored as they fought for control. The arm at her waist came around to cup around the apex of her sex, palming her clit and urging a wanton moan from her mouth into his. His fingers smoothed along her slit, where she could feel she had already soaked through the material, this time granting Jon a guttural growl within his throat. He continued his torturously slow ministrations, removing the hand in her hand to gently squeeze a breast, attentive to the soreness she still experienced.

She dropped her hands to the hem of his trousers, undoing them and shoving them down far enough that she could slip her hand beneath his briefs, gliding her curved fingers down his stiff length and forcing him to rut into her hand. He made quick work of removing them altogether, only breaking from her mouth to allow them both some air, and she slowly, languidly pumped him, her grip light, almost feathering over the strained skin.

His lips left a trail of searing presses to her skin, making it pimple with gooseflesh, nipping at the column of her throat and progressing down her chest. His hand then pulled aside the material covering her clit, sliding his thumb through her juices before massaging just under where she really needed him, making her whimper against his head. Meanwhile, he covered her pert nipple with the plushness of his lips, slackening her jaw and causing her hand to squeeze him in response, drawing a heavy groan from him.

She rolled her shoulders back, her staccato pants filling the room, punctured by high-pitched moans as he worked her in tandem with mouth and fingers. She increased her pace in recompense, in tune with the speed in which he was building her up. Without warning, he plunged two fingers into her entrance, her cry muffled in his hair, moving his wicked mouth to her other breast, but he was quickly losing his momentum as she stroked him more firmly.

It felt as though she were trapped in a frozen room while her skin ran hot, a cold sweat sprouting from her pores as he curled his fingers far into her depths, her chest tightening as her breath caught in a silent wail.

Jon grazed his teeth over her nipple, and then had mercy on her, the rush of his breaths fanning her face as he smashed his mouth against hers and helped lower her, but he slid beneath her. She took advantage of the half-second break to ease the ache in her chest from the build-up of holding her breath, throwing her leg over his narrow hips as his hands fumbled to find the latch to her bra.

She chuckled softly, wrapping her hands around his wrists and bringing them around forward t o the front middle clasp. “Why can’t they make these consistent?” He breathed harshly, making her squeak a laugh as her breasts freed from the restraints and were blanketed by his soft, roaming hands. She dropped her head, adding pressure to his cock below her, administering slow, shallow circles and sliding her hands up to his chest, smoothing her palms over his nipples.

With every pass of her swollen folds, he lifted his hips for more pressure, keening together with him. She felt his hands abandon her heavy breasts, as they shifted awkwardly to get her out of the remaining undergarment strap, but before she could continue, he turned her around so that she was facing his feet, his hands a steady grip of her hips.

She followed his lead as she braced her hands around his muscled thighs just above his knee, pulling over his length and coating him generously in her juices, exchanging soft groans. He fisted himself and stilled her for a moment, rising onto her knees as he continued to torment her by massaging her weeping entrance with the head of his cock, the ember low in her belly on the brink of erupting.

“Jon,” she wheezed, her head falling and a shrill whine freeing from her lips when he pressed his drenched cock over her clit, making her knees almost buckle under her own weight. He did this for only a few more seconds, though it felt like she was barely holding on now, until he finally lined them up and helped guide her hips down, inch by agonizing inch. They paused once she was seated to the hilt, the pressure ever prominent in her lower abdominal area, rising and lowering in shallow thrusts just around the neck of his cock, giving him a taste of his own medicine.

“For fuck’s...sake...Dany,” he practically choked the words out, then rut his hips upward and crashed their pelvises together until she was seeing an even deeper pitch of black behind her eyes, pressing her tongue to the roof of her mouth to muffle her cries. After that, he set a steady pace, moving in rhythm with her and alternating nearly drawing totally out and rocking into here in shallow thrusts at the base of his cock. 

Somehow he managed to snake his hand around her thigh and it only took two gentle strokes before the idle fire in her belly caught and set her aflame, her mouth falling open as he chased her release by easing her hips in circles around his cock. It was so intense, her blood boiling, that her peak was almost soundless, and as Jon grunted and growled as her cunt milked his palpitating cock, he stilled, gasping breaths filling the void of the air. Dany was trembling, barely able to hold herself upright even with a grasp on his thighs, and Jon seemed to notice her growing discomfort as he manipulated them until he slid out of her and had her cradled against his chest on their sides.

For a while, as they came down, it was just the two of them breathing one another in, and the clouds must have parted as they gave way to a bit more light, enough that Dany could make out the soft highlights of Jon’s bone structure. He seemed to notice as well, and she watched as his eyes crinkled with a smile, inching closer to kiss her gingerly. She pressed their clammy bodies together, the thought of having to get up to use the washroom feeling like the most daunting task in the world right now. Her legs were about as useful as jam.

She could feel the exhaustion in his kiss, moving her hand to brush back the wayward curls that stuck to his temple and forehead. Pecking his nose, she left him briefly to relieve herself and do a quick wash-up before returning to the bed, careful to not knock into anything on the way. She crawled in, pulling the blankets up with her, tucking herself into his front once more. She could tell by his heavy, lazy movements that he was already half asleep, but he still had the mind to bring the blanket over her back and gather her close, legs entangling.

“I love you,” he whispered, so quiet it could have passed as just a breath if she didn’t know differently.

“I love you more,” she returned, tracing the lines of his face with the pads of her fingertips, her thumb smoothing over the perfect shape of his lips.

And, as she lay there, waiting for sleep to envelop her and studying the way in which Jon’s face relaxed with every passing second, she thought to herself that she would never let anybody rob this peace from him. From them.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *screams* YAAAAAY!!
> 
> If anyone was wondering where I got Dany's ring inspiration from, it's this one: https://imgur.com/a/1K1b5Pj


	10. Call It Dreaming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, friends!  
> I'm so sorry for how long it took me to update this baby - life has been...a kicker, let me just tell you, but I think I'm over the worst of the hump now (at least let's hope). Also, this chapter was a little bit of a pain in the ass. I took some liberties here, so please don't yell at me - I did some research on court-martials, but I also didn't want to drag it out. :) 
> 
> Probably only about, maybe, 2-3 chapters left on this!
> 
> Hope you enjoy!!
> 
> (Chapter title inspired from the song 'Call It Dreaming' by Iron & Wine)

They were waiting in the small hall just outside of room 302, where their trial would begin in less than thirty minutes.

Everything about the place made Jon ill. His senses were on overdrive; overstimulated. The staleness, the overall, dreary color drenched in tans and browns. The smell, stagnant and humid, only growing hotter the more bodies fit in. His suit, slim and fitted, made him itch and his skin damp. Even the clicking of shoes was like an ice pick against his throbbing head, or perhaps that was the incoming migraine.

He had seen a doctor the day before they departed for Oldtown for a re-evaluation, and it was determined he had suffered a grade three concussion. Evidently, it surprised the doctor that Jon didn’t die, considering he had obtained two in a short period of time, which could often be fatal. Again, he was ordered to rest as much as possible - both mentally and physically - and that slowly, over time, the effects would subside.

Today, he knew he was stretching his mental welfare thin, but it could hardly be helped. Not long after they had arrived, just the pair of them, had their potential witnesses begun to pour in, beginning with Margaery, Talisa, and Robb. They were fortunate enough to have a whole slew of them for support: General Seaworth, Robb, Grey, Theon, Tormund, Missandei, Margaery, and Talisa. Unfortunately, they had received news just a few days ago that Dr. Baratheon had succumbed to a heart attack, evidently discovered slumped over on his toilet seat (at least, per Margaery’s word). It was not only awful itself, but would have provided some of Dany’s largest support. The only person they had yet to see was Sam, though it was possible he was in waiting in a separate room, as the current one was stuffy enough as it was.

This morning, before they had left, Dany gently warned him that she would likely be sharing something about her childhood when she was called upon in court. Something that he didn’t yet know; a detail about her father that she felt would be relevant to their case. When Jon prompted her if she’d be open to telling him, she had burst into a fit of tears, and so they had spent most of their early hours just holding one another. Jon comforted her as best he could with what little knowledge of her family that he had - he knew that she loved Rhaegar; she’d talked about him often in those six week before the war over the phone. The only thing he knew of Aerys was that he was a terrible man, and Dany had no love for him, but that was enough for Jon to loathe the man, as well.

The ladies were quietly chit-chatting, but Jon had been in such a distracted daze that he wasn’t hearing words. His hands were clenched in tight, clammy fists in his pockets. At some point, Dany must have noticed, as he felt her arm link around his and directed them both to a private corner of the room. She was absolutely arresting in her red dress that was snug against her every curve, accentuating her rounded belly, her hair half done up in some intricate braids that he had watched her put together in amazement earlier that morning. Maybe he wouldn’t have felt like such a deprived man if they hadn’t put a damper on their arduous activities a couple of weeks ago, and he worried she might prove to be a distraction for him in the court room itself. Hopefully he wouldn’t trip over his own tongue.

“I’ve already sweat through my shirt,” he mumbled, momentarily bouncing nervously on his feet.

Dany merely smiled at him sweetly, her small hands gripping his upper arms and giving them a squeeze before digging out his hands so she could hold one of them - he tried to avoid it, given the layer of damp coating them, but she was insistent. The cool metal of her ring grazed his skin. Her other hand's fingers slid along the chain - the locket - around his neck, which tucked beneath his button-down. "You're wearing it," she noted softly.

He gave her a small smile, nodding once. "Figured it saved my neck once already. Might come in handy today."

“We’re going to be fine,” she assured, that ever-present optimism that he would kill to have even a fraction of. It was in his blood to brood.

He drifted his eyes down to look at her now, captivated by her always, but the thin layer of black mascara made her eyes pop like jewels even more. “Only if you get out of here unscathed.”

The strength of her hand squeezing around his, hard, almost made him apologize, but he was stubborn. “No, we’re  _ both _ getting out of here unscathed. If you think I would be happy growing old without you, you don’t know me at all. We’ll be back home in no time.”

Jon couldn’t help but smile, her brows jumping only slightly upward in question, his face sobering as he was overcome with emotion. Gods, he almost couldn’t be sure who was more soft lately, him or his pregnant almost-wife. “Does it feel like home, Dany? Winterfell.”

She nodded, almost imperceptibly, but the smile that reached her eyes did the answering. “ _ You’re _ home to me. It doesn’t matter where we are. But, yes. I adore your little hideaway from society.”

Grinning, he dipped his head down to peck her lips, careful as to not smear or share her lipstick. “I’ll need to add a second bedroom.”

“See?” Dany smirked. “You wouldn’t be mentioning the future if you thought it was in a cell. And, anyway, if it were, I would simply bust you out of it.”

Jon snorted. “I don’t doubt it, but once we’re caught then we’re in for life.”

Dany wrinkled her nose at him, but the sound of more friends arriving had them figuring they better pay them some hearty thanks and warm welcomes. Jon hadn’t seen Grey, Theon, or Tormund since they had left King’s Landing two weeks ago, but they were generally in high spirits, and mostly in one piece. Tormund carried some knicks and bruises, Grey and Theon looking mostly untouched, at least just from what he could see of their faces. Missandei instantly had Dany in her arms, gushing over how her stomach had grown. General Seaworth permanently adorned an eye patch, with a slight limp, and Theon wouldn’t stop insisting he looked every bit the pirate.

Gods, Jon was happy to have Theon as a support piece, but he truly could not stand the man otherwise. Although, he was indebted to him - if it weren’t for him lending his plane to Jon to leave Essos when they did, Jon always feared how much worse it could have been, how even seconds late could have proved fatal to Dany and thousands of civilians. If that had been the case, he could have walked himself straight into a prison cell and locked the damn thing itself for all eternity.

Jon received countless, overlapping reassurances, pats on the back, inquiries as to the state of his health and wellbeing, and several more congratulations on the baby and the engagement. He did hate that it was here they were congregating in half celebration while their fates were on the line. Perhaps, if luck really was on their side, they could have a proper celebratory party back home.

Jon sighed, the ache blooming further in his head. His post-concussion headaches had lessened to almost none at all, and his doctor reassured that within the next week they should wane completely. Dany squeezed his hand.

Just as Dany opened her mouth to speak, a door behind them opened, giving the pair of them a nod to beckon them inside.

Jon turned to Dany, his heart thrashing against his chest. Within seconds, everyone else had left them. "Ready?" He breathed, moving his arms to secure around her waist.

Dany sent him a singular nod, smiling as if they already had this thing in the bag. He loved her so fucking much; she was the only thing to keep him afloat. "Ready. You?" She smoothed her hands down the lapels of his suit, resting them on his chest.

"Ready for it to be over and home," he half smiled, and Dany tilted her head up to place three hearty kisses on his mouth.

"Let's get this over with, then," she whispered, sharing as tight of a hug as they could manage with their growing babe (still plural for Jon, however) between them. Just as they were parting, the man from earlier came searching for them to wrangle them inside, whilst Dany and Jon shared a snort as if they were some troublesome children.

Jon silently sucked in a mouthful of air, eyes darting around the room, his heart rabid, but finding comfort in not only Dany's sure presence, but those of whom had come here ready to put their word on the line to ensure each of them could live the fullest, happiest lives. There were long wooden benches on either side. Three stern, middle-aged or older men with very few witnesses sat to the left, whilst Jon, Dany, and their gaggle would take up the right. It took Jon a long time to realize Samwell Tarly was also on their side, a few feet over from where they would be sat.

They slipped into the front row, Jon turning to Dany. “Come meet Sam,” he muttered, looking around to be sure the judge had not yet arrived. Coast clear, Jon tapped him on the shoulder. 

Sam turned with a start - an actual fucking  _ yelp _ , as if a ghost had touched him - almost literally jumping out of his own skin. He looked worse for wear, his plump, round face flushed from the roots of his hair to his neck, his slicked-back hair loosening by the sweat dripping down his temples. His wide eyes bugged round as saucers, his attention unsettling between Jon and Dany. “Oh,  _ gods _ ! I’m so sorry, I am  _ so _ -” he began, but Jon shook his head, cuffing him on his shoulder.

“Sam, you have nothing to be sorry for. We both knew the potential consequences,” Jon kept his voice only audible enough for the three of them; if the prosecution caught a word of it, he may as well tell everyone to go home and ask for arrest.

Sam faltered, swallowing thickly. Jon stepped aside, as much as be could between the seats to his right and half wall to his left, bringing Dany forward. “I wanted to introduce you to Daenerys, Dany, this is Sam, a great friend of mine.”

Dany smiled sweetly, but Sam’s eyes were transfixed on the protrusion of Dany’s belly, and it took Jon clearing his throat to bring him back into focus. Dany extended her hand. “I’ve heard many good things about you, Sam.”

“W-w-well,” Sam stammered, and Jon sighed quietly, biting back a smile. Nothing changed. Closing his eyes briefly, Sam collected himself, at least as best he could, and lightly shook her hand. Jon was certain it would now be covered in his sweat. “Thank you. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Sam cut a look toward Jon, his head sharply nodding toward Dany, but not truly intending to keep his next words a secret: “Could at least one of you be less ugly? Seven bloody hells,” he hissed.

Dany laughed, throwing a hand over her mouth. “Jon never mentioned you were a comedian, too.”

Jon made an indecipherable sound resembling a grunt, while Sam’s face reddened impossibly further, and then his thick hand gestured toward Dany’s belly once more, glancing between them. “Congratulations are in order.” His smile wavered, and Jon knew that his friend wanted to make a self-deprecating comment, but Jon shot him a stern look.

“Please be seated. Judge Jeor Mormont will be in shortly,” someone said, and Jon and Dany sat after bidding Sam good luck.

The room fell silent. Jon was bouncing his leg, hands folded in his lap. Less than a minute (but feeling like hours) later, a man around his mid sixties with a low, heavy brow and billowing black robes walked in. He had a thick, white beard with matching hair, though he was balding around it. Judge Mormont was a mountain of a man, opening several folders and flipping them open. Jon was certain if this went on for hours, he would go into cardiac arrest with the way his blood was being pumped so frantically in his ears, only serving to worsen his headache.

Save for the shuffling of Judge Mormont’s paperwork, a pin drop could be heard amid the silence. Until the great heavy doors behind them could be heard opening, and two voices muttering to one another. Jon assumed that perhaps it was a clerk or someone similar, but as the steps grew nearer, he heard Robb’s voice whisper, “mum, over here,” and a chill tingled down his spine, his haunches on alert and hair standing at its ends.

He whipped his head around and, as if this day could not torment him enough, there stood Catelyn Stark, squeezing her way into the booth beside Robb and his crutch. Where her hair had once been a vibrant red, was now lined with slivers of grey, and fine lines edged around her tired features. She would only be in her fifties, yet she looked as though she’d aged an extra decade, even if it had been nearly two since he had last seen her.

For a beat, he only saw red, jaw clenching painfully as his eyes cut to Robb. 

“What is it?” Dany whispered at his side, following his gaze to the woman Jon never imagined she would ever have the displeasure of meeting. He was certain he would never see her again, whether he died overseas or not.

He barely heard her, though, as Robb met his gaze and mouthed ‘ _ trust me _ ’. Cat looked at him then, her eyes not nearly as unkind as they had been as a child, but still, all he saw was the woman who berated him all his life, and later abandoned him to die for all he knew. Her expression remained neutral, if not daring the tiniest of smiles, and he forced himself to face forward once more. He turned his head toward Dany’s ear. “Catelyn,” he whispered, and instantly her brows pinched together, the anger less contained on her beautiful features.

“What? How?” She hissed quietly.

He shook his head slightly with a shrug. He couldn’t fathom a single idea, in all the seven hells, why she was here, only that Robb clearly was involved. In fact, he was possibly more stunned she didn’t skip right on over to the side of the prosecution. Perhaps she was here to witness his ultimate downfall; come full circle, as it were, all of her hopes and dreams unraveling before her. The only thing preventing him from having her thrown out entirely was that Robb was one of a very few he trusted with his life, and if he arranged this, there was a good reason for it.

“Jon,” Dany murmured, likely coming to notice his mental absence. He turned his eyes on her, offering a small smile. “It will be alright.”

He wanted to say fuck it, and kiss her right there, to show Cat how he did find his happiness within this woman at his side, but there would be time for that later. Instead, he nodded, brushing his thumb over her knuckles where her hand was still in his lap. 

“This general court-martial is now in session,” a booming voice came from the podium; Judge Mormont.

Jon swallowed, shifting straighter in his seat. 

“Do any of the three accused object to this trial by general court-martial?”

Jon, Dany, and Sam uttered a unison “no”.

“Have the accused read over the charges and specifications?”

The three of them confirmed they had. They’d all been given a charge sheet in which to review the charges and the implications should they be found guilty, from the least to most serious consequences.

“Mr. Tarly,” Judge Mormont set hard eyes on Jon’s friend, whom he could hear audibly gulp, “how do you plead? If you should decide to dismiss any of the charges presented against you, make them known now.”

“Not guilty,” Sam practically choked, and Jon pressed his eyes closed.  _ Bloody idiot _ . The evidence was stacked against them; there would be no getting out of this at the minimum ramifications. This wasn’t a civilian trial where they could weasel out of it.

To the point that, it had to have been less than ten minutes in which he was found guilty under conspiracy to knowingly committing identification fraud, of withholding legal documentation (Jon’s real birth record), and falsifying legal government documents (Jon’s false birth record). Prosecution barely had to lift a finger, save to provide all of the proof in their grubby little hands, and Sam barely had a defense put together for himself. He would serve ten years in prison and pay a penalty fine of one-hundred thousand gold dragons.

Jon watched from his peripheral as Sam sat heavily, defeated, in his seat. If he was being honest, Jon thought ten years was relatively generous; though, he was pure-born. Jon would receive a minimum of three times that if that was to be his fate.

“Ms. Targaryen,” Judge Mormont continued, turning his attention toward her as she stood. Jon’s heart was pounding so fervently he was certain that with each pause, everyone in the room could hear it. She was presented with her charges just as Sam had been: knowingly and/or willingly providing a signature upon a false document, to which the accused knew that the signature provided was falsifying documentation, to which the accused provided such signature intentionally.

“How do you plead?”

He heard her inhale a small breath before responding with, “Guilty”.

“I will now explain the meaning and effect of your pleas, and question you so that I can be sure you understand,” Judge Mormont said. “You are legally and morally entitled to plead not guilty even though you believe you are guilty, and to require that your guilt be proved beyond a reasonable doubt. I will not accept your pleas unless you realize that by your pleas you admit every element of the offenses to which you have pleaded guilty, and that you are pleading guilty because you really are guilty, and that you have not been persuaded by any party to plead as such. If you are not convinced that you are in fact guilty, you should not allow anything to influence you to plead guilty. Do you understand that?”

Dany gave a nod. “Yes, I do.”

Judge Mormont reviewed her revoked rights upon a guilty plea: the right to self-incrimination, the option to allow the judge to weigh whether or not she is guilty or not based upon evidence presented, as well as the right for any witness to swear and testify against her.

“On your plea of guilt alone,” he went on, and Jon saw his eyes fleetingly fall onto Dany’s stomach before returning to her eyes, “you could face up to ten years imprisonment, the automatic forfeit of your nursing licenses, and a fine of two-hundred-and-fifty thousand gold dragons. Do you have any questions about the sentence which could be imposed as a result of your pleas of guilty?”

“No,” she said, her voice small. A thick knot rooted and swelled in Jon’s throat.

“Have there been any threats or coercion in forcing you plea of guilty?”

“No, your honor.”

Judge Mormont shuffled about some papers, bringing one to the forefront. “I will repeat the charges against you, and I’d like you to ask yourself whether each are true, and whether you’d like to admit they are true. Then, I would like to discuss the elements of each charge against you.”

Dany nodded, her clasped hands before her making her skin turn stark white.

“Knowingly and/or willingly providing a signature upon a false document. Were you aware that by providing your signature, you were confirming that Commander Snow’s documents did not match his legal identification?”

“Yes, your honor,” her voice was beginning to quiver. Discreetly, without shifting his attention, Jon slid his hand over and gently cuffed it around the side of her knee, hearing the exhale sound through her slightly parted lips.

“If you were not otherwise being forced or threatened to sign said document, may I inquire as to why you felt it necessary?”

“Of course,” she replied, voice level now. “Based upon Commander Snow’s aptitude tests, experience, and physical wellbeing, he proved to be no less qualified than most of the other men in that room. While I believe myself to be very attentive to my work, I was more than ready to sign off and pass him along to the next station until the name discrepancy came to my attention.”

Judge Mormont gave a barely-noticeable nod for her to continue, eyes momentarily flicking to Jon’s as if to catch him out.

“I’ve never meddled in being rebellious by any standard, your honor. But with all due respect to the law and its governing authorities,” her voice was cool and smooth, “I don’t find it ethical to deny someone a means of living based upon their birth status. The slaves of Essos would not have seen his name and feared he was incapable of protecting them; in fact, bastardy in the most progressive parts of Essos only denies certain properties and lands, and they are still feudal in terms of constitution.”

A beat of silence passed, as if everyone was holding their breath. Judge Mormont cleared his throat. “You seem to have some knowledge about Essos.”

She pulled a smile as best she could. “Yes. I grew up there.”

“I see,” Judge Mormont said, “and did that have any part to play in your actions with Commander. Snow?”

Jon wondered what Judge Mormont, and the room, would think if she were truly honest, had given them all the same reasons she had passed him as she had to him when they’d spoken on the phone all those months ago.

“Not in the way you might expect,” Dany said softly, “but rather that my father had all intentions of selling me to the slave trade as a child.”

For all Jon knew, there could have been an uproar, but he heard nothing except the pounding of blood in his ears, deafening him to everything but Dany’s voice. His eyes flew up to the side of her face where he sat, his hand reflexively, protectively, tightening around her knee where the back of it still brushed the edge of the bench.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” the judge said, with genuine sincerity as far as Jon’s muddied mind could decipher. 

“If I could have gone myself, I probably would have,” she added. “If it weren’t for my brother, who died on the Trident, I would have been one of the thousands of slave girls tortured and later freed because of Jon Snow’s command; not by the lack of it.”

Jon was still having a difficult time keeping up, given the bombshell she laid on the room, but he was somehow still able to remain present.

“Ms. Targaryen,” Judge Mormont continued, setting aside a paper in favor for another, “judging by your plea of guilt, as well as what you have shared with us up to this point, I get the feeling there is no regret to be found in your decision.”

“That is correct, your honor,” she said, sounding much more relaxed now. “Everything that I did, every choice that I’ve made in my life, brought me to him. And he has given me my future. My father’s choices were what brought me to Westeros when it did, and led me to take up the career that I did. The only thing I would have been remorseful for would be if I had declined Commander Snow when he was as capable, if not more so, than every other man in that room that particular evening.”

Judge Mormont stared at her, eyes narrowing just a hair, tongue sweeping over his front teeth as he then gave a frank nod. “Regardless of your feelings, however, the law is the law. Nobody has to like it, but they do have to abide by it. You willingly, and knowingly, broke one of those laws, and more still.”

“That I did, your honor,” Dany replied, quieter still.

“Do you have anything more to add, Ms. Targaryen?”

Dany didn’t falter, even though Jon could feel a slight quiver from her. “Only that you would have mercy on the both of us, and a plea to dismantle laws that discriminate its people to the point that they lack quality of life.”

“That is quite a statement, Ms. Targaryen,” Judge Mormont chortled, throwing everyone off, but Jon hoped that was perhaps a good sign unless he was simply humoring them. “You may have a seat, and we will come to a decision when we conclude.”

Jon’s eyes followed her movement as she took up her spot beside him, and she grabbed his hand, bringing it to her lips, uncaring as to who might see. He smiled, his heart in pain, almost in rhythm with his pulsing head.

“Commander Snow.”

Chest tightening, Dany squeezed his palm before he got up to his feet.

“Your charges read as follows: conspiring in the act of falsifying an official government-sealed document while knowingly and/or willing understanding it was false; using such documents for own personal gain knowingly and/or willingly; fraudulently providing a false name against the statutes of military law. How do you plead?”

Jon licked his lips, feeling as though he could very well pass out at any given moment he was so bloody overwhelmed. Every word that flew out of his mouth was paramount to his outcome.

“Guilty,” he said. He didn’t miss the snickers coming from the prosecution.

“Commander Snow, first and foremost I’d like to thank you for your service, despite the circumstances. Second, given that I briefly knew your father, gods rest his soul, I was very taken aback when I saw his son’s files sent to me,” Judge Mormont said, his voice neutral if not bordering on playful.

Jon held his hands before him; he wasn’t too surprised the judge knew Ned; he got around a lot and had many, many connections and friends.

“That said,” the man continued, “it’s a bit of a contradiction, I suppose, when I found myself unsurprised as to what it was you were trying to achieve. Despite your recklessness, I can not look any man in the eye who is so honorable down to his core, that he puts his life on the line more than once to defend his country.”

Blinking, Jon swallowed hard, unsure if this was a ruse or sincere.

“Your honor-” Mr. Wolkan cut in from the other side, but Judge Mormont’s hand shot up in the air to silence him.

“I’ve not called on you, Mr. Wolkan, and we’ve only just begun with Commander Snow.”

“Yes, sir,” Mr. Wolkan whispered.

“Commander Snow,” Judge Mormont sat back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest, “what sort of punishment would you expect to serve if someone else were in your shoes, and you in mine?”

“Well...none, your honor, if I’m being truly honest,” Jon said with a tiny smile, brows lifting a bit. Judge Mormont never broke eye contact, and his emotions were difficult to read when he gaped as he did. Maybe it was only his nerves, but each question felt like he was walking into the lion’s den. “I’ve wanted to become a pilot since I was a child. I made that dream happen without anyone’s help, until I met Ms. Targaryen,” he waved his hand in her direction. “I had to take some shortcuts to get there, aye, but I fulfilled that dream and gained much more on the way.”

Judge Mormont’s eyes briefly left his to Dany’s and back again, sitting up and crossing his arms over his podium. “So, despite the very intentional act of defying the law, falsifying documents and sending the Citadel on a wild goose chase for your proper file, you still believe yourself one-hundred percent clear of any wrongdoing?”

Jon frowned. “It’s not so much that, your honor. Only that if you and I swapped roles today, I would find that your deeds, your sacrifices, far outweighed the concern of whether or not your parents had been wed prior to your birth.”

“Hm,” the judge grunted, straightening further still. “I’d like to get some commentary from the gallery behind you. The both of you have quite a support system, it seems.”

Jon smiled a little wider with a small nod.

“Your Honor, if I may?” Davos’s voice sounded, to which the judge motioned for him to sit at a bench off to the side between himself and Jon and Dany’s group.

Davos cleared his throat, giving a pointed look to Jon, then back to the judge. “Your honor, with all due respect to everyone in this room, I should be more pissed off than anyone about this situation. But I’m not. In fact, I was there when the summons were brought to them, and I didn’t bat an eye. Or, rather, the one good one I have.”

There was a rumble of laughter from the defendant side of the room.

“Commander Snow has a thick hide when it comes to compliments and praise. He would sooner take himself to the grave rather than hear it,” Davos continued.

Jon bit back a smile, already flushing in anticipation of what was going to spill from his General’s mouth.

“Probably not a single soul in this room, save for those who were on the battlefield with us, knows that if it hadn’t been for Jon Snow and his command, we wouldn’t have been such lucky sons o’ bitches ending the war in the same day Kraznys’s forced invaded Westeros.”

Jon’s breath hitched; no, nobody else knew. Not even Dany. Not because he didn’t want to, but he simply  _ couldn’t _ . It was too fresh, too soon, and yes, he had no ambition to talk himself up to that magnitude.

“Commander Snow was the one who made the call to ground his fleet because Kraznys had  _ twenty _ men about to raze the city with wildfire,” Davos’s voice raised, perhaps unbidden, the tendon in his neck popping. “Mind you, we had no allies on the ground, and that meant pulling our strongest resources from the skies, where our enemy was bombing the capital."

Jon was barely breathing, eyes cemented to the floor and only occasionally chancing a glimpse at the judge. 

Judge Mormont hummed a sound, something thoughtful perhaps. "You've made a strong argument, General. It would be difficult to contend with that." He sent a pointed look to the prosecution side.

"Aye, your honor. He also saved my life in Essos," David resumed, "I'm lucky this was all that I lost," he said roughly, pointing to his patched missing eye.

"He already plead guilty, your honor," Mr. Wolkan grumbled loudly, "let's just be done with it already."

"I'll have silence from you," Judge Mormon spat, turning again to Davos. "Is there anything else you'd like to add?"

"Yes, sir," Davos said hastily, “only that Ms. Targaryen, also, saved my life. She tended to my burns - most of them were second and third degree, and I was bordering septic - and assisted with...this,” he circled an index around his eye patch. “I watched her work her ass off, working a monumental amount of hours, never sleeping, barely eating, never complaining, and much of that time she was with child. If you remove someone like  _ that _ from people like  _ me _ , who need her...well, let me just say what an unfortunate bloody loss.”

With a heavy, singular nod from Judge Mormont, Davos was dismissed, sending Jon and Dany a wink as he passed by. His head was pounding, like a metal vice around his temples.

"If anyone from the defense would like to testify on behalf of Commander Snow, now's the time."

Jon waited as a shuffling sounded behind him. He tried to remember where everyone sat, who it might be, but he did  _ not _ expect Catelyn. "I would, if I may, your honor."

Judge Mormont waved her up. Jon didn't move, but watched her with cold hard eyes. Dany slid to the edge of her seat, taking Jon's hand.

Cat swore her honesty and spared Jon a glance before being seated. "Please state your name and relationship to the defendant."

"Catelyn Stark, s...stepmother," she stammered, voice quivering.

"Would you consider yourself and Commander Snow very close?"

She looked upon Jon once more, eyes growing watery. "No, your honor. But I've come to speak on his behalf in the hopes to mend old wounds."

Jon’s jaw muscle ticked, forcing to maintain eye contact with her. He wouldn’t break first; he did enough of that as a child.

“I see,” Judge Mormont muttered, "go on, then."

Catelyn braced herself, briefly closing her eyes before setting her gaze on Judge Mormont. Jon was certain she would have come here to stand behind the prosecution, as a final blow.

"Jon and I...to put it lightly, we were always at odds," she said quietly, barely audible. "It wasn't his fault. None of it was. Not a single day, not one minute did he ever misstep. I was hurt, you see. My husband and I were at a terribly hard time in our marriage when Ned found Jon's mother. And when he brought Jon home, all I saw was physical proof of my husband's disloyalty. But that, also, was not entirely Ned's fault. I was terrible to him. And when he brought home the baby, to  _ my _ home with  _ my _ son, Robb...all of the resentment fell onto Jon. Even as an innocent baby who'd not asked to be born, I wanted nothing to do with him. After my husband died, it felt like some sort of...reprieve, not of his death, but that it was my opportunity to be rid of this child that wasn’t mine by blood. So I left. I took my and Ned’s children, and I left Jon to fend for himself."

The more she spoke, the weaker her stability became, her voice quivering to the point that Jon wasn't sure she'd make it through without needing to reset a few times.

And, amazingly, he felt a little remorseful. Not for the way in which she had always loathed him, and the extent that she made him suffer because of it, but that it took her this long to regret it. It would take him far longer to learn to forgive her. Somehow, all of this made him miss his father. It pained his chest to look around this room and see he wasn't here.

"I'm sorry, your honor." A clerk brought Cat a tissue and they waited silently as she cleared her nose. Once she did, she cleared her watery throat once more. "I don't wish to keep you all very long. I just want to right some wrongs, as belated as they are. Jon," she croaked, and he lifted his chin a little higher, "I am so, so sorry," she shook her head and laid her forehead into her hands. But she wasn't done, seeking him out again. "You weren't allowed to be a child. I stole that from you. There will never be enough lifetimes to express how deeply I regret that."

Jon pressed his teeth together, giving her a small nod as she tried to collect herself again. Her eyes were red and wet, as was much of her face. Then, she looked back toward Judge Mormont. "Your Honor, if it's at all possible - as much as I loathe this word - legitimize Commander Snow, and retroactively clear him of these unfair charges.”

His body numbed, mouth falling agape until he snapped it back shut, looking between Cat and Judge Mormont.

“Your Honor, I object,” Mr. Wolkan called vehemently, not giving Judge Mormont even a beat to speak, “Commander Snow was charged as the bastard that he is-”

“Mr. Wolkan-” Judge Mormont cut in lazily.

Mr. Wolkan was beyond listening, however. “Ms. Stark can bestow the Stark name upon him as many times as she’d like, but there is no law that states-”

“Mr. Wolkan!” The judge bellowed, startling the room into silence. “I’ve dealt with you for many years, and I’ve warned you to never speak over me -  _ least _ of all when it comes to the terms of the law!”

Jon and Cat exchanged another brief look.

“Ms. Stark,” Judge Mormont called, his voice returning to its neutral volume, “your testimony is very moving, and your wishes admirable. Before any decisions are made, I’d like to ask you to take your seat once more, and I would call on Commander Snow one final time.”

When Cat got to Jon’s side, she stopped for a second, reaching over to gently squeeze his arm and went off to take up her spot beside Robb again.

“Commander Snow, would you say that Ms. Stark’s words ring true?”

“Yes, your honor. Both in recounting our very strained relationship and in wishing to, at the very least, try to make amends.”

Dany squeezed his hand where she held it just out of view behind the half wall in front of them.

“And, Commander Snow, what do you feel you deserve as your judgement?”

Jon slowly drew in a breath, suddenly feeling overwhelmingly emotional; even his eyes stung a bit, but he couldn’t break down in front of everyone. “To be honest, your honor, I would take anything so long as it isn’t being stuck behind a jail cell. As far as I’m concerned, now that my life has been guaranteed after the war and enduring abandonment as a child, it’s only just now being allowed to begin.” He turned and looked down at Dany, whose eyes were lined with tears, her thumb running over his knuckles. He considered the judge once more. “In three months’ time, Ms. Targaryen will give birth to our child, and sometime between then - or after - we’re to be wed. You can strip me of my titles, disregard my time in service, hate me if you’d like. But please…,” he shook his head, just a scarce movement, “don’t take me away from my family.”

Judge Mormont gave him a long, almost agonizing stare before asking Jon to be seated. Court was adjourned for a short time while the evidence and testimony was considered. While most everyone else mingled, Jon stayed at Dany’s side, his stomach twisting almost as sickeningly as when he’d been on the path to diving into the bay.

“You did great up there,” she whispered, laying her head on his shoulder.

Exhaustion was quickly washing over him, and he wondered how long they’d been there. It felt like days. “You, too,” he kissed her head, then tilted his head so that he could see her. “I’m sorry about your father,” he said earnestly, hoping that she could hear it even through the fatigue.

LIfting her head, she smiled sweetly at him. “I never felt like there was a good time to tell you.”

One side of his mouth ticked up, shaking his head while he lifted his hand to sweep his thumb over her cheek. “I’m not worried about it.”

Leaning into his hand, Dany turned and kissed his fingers.

“How do you feel?” He asked, lowering his hand to settle it on her belly, and just in time to feel a rather violent movement, which had him grinning like a fool.

“Oh, gods,” she grunted, “Like I’m going to burst. I swear that only happens when you touch me.”

“Hm,” Jon lifted his brows at her, and she weakly pushed him with her shoulder.

Movement in their peripheral had them finding Judge Mormont taking up his seat again, and the room, once more, was so silent one could hear a pin drop.

“Ms. Targaryen. After some deliberation, the court finds you not guilty of all charges.”

There was a murmur of noise behind them, and Mr. Wolkan cursing not to quietly on the other side. Dany pressed her lips together and covered them with her hand. Jon squeezed her hand where he held it between them, the rush of overwhelming relief so great he thought he might pass out.

“Mr. Snow.”

Jon’s heart palpitated, hands suddenly clammy and shaking, stomach hitting the floor.

“The court finds you not guilty of all charges, should you accept Ms. Stark’s declaration to have you named Jon Stark here and now.”

Several things happened at once: a commotion of cries from their friends erupted, a string of vicious words by Mr. Wolkan intermingling, and Jon almost not hearing anything the judge said after the word ‘charges’. He was pretty certain he sat there, cemented to his seat, for a solid few minutes before he realized he was to give Mr. Wolkan his answer. Dany was almost full on sobbing at his side now.

“Yes. I accept,” he said, though he couldn’t be sure if his voice reached any further than his mouth, but given that Judge Mormont mentioned something about paperwork and something being granted and whatnot, it must have.

Everything else passed by in a blur. All he remembered was signing his name - both as Snow and as Stark - his signatures barely legible given how much he was trembling. There were many hushed voices of congratulations, back-apts (Tormund nearly severed his spine, and Jon had nearly forgotten the ginger had been there; he was so quiet the entire time. Jon was confident he would have caused a riot if he’d been found guilty of anything). There was a mention of Sam’s sentence being reduced to two years of community service and losing his job at the Citadel. Jon was given some documents, and in the next moment, they were outside, the fresh air acting as a bucket of ice water over his head.

Dany pulled him aside into a small cutout against the building, grabbing his face and peppering it with kisses until they both were breathless. He gathered her into his arms, burying his face in her neck as he breathed her in, trying to come to terms with what just unfolded, knowing he wouldn’t for a long time.

Dany pulled away and rose up onto her toes to kiss him, long and tender, and he sighed against her.

Someone making a show of clearing their throat drew them apart, finding Margaery with crossed arms and her foot tapping impatiently on the ground. She grinned widely. “Ready to go home?”

Jon and Dany exchanged a small frown. “Of course, but why are you looking at us like that?”

“Other than your very public displays of affection,” Margaery drawled, “we have a lot to celebrate.”

When Jon looked over Margaery’s shoulder, he saw that, indeed, everyone congregated in one large group, except for Catelyn, who appeared to be hugging Robb goodbye. Sighing, Jon squeezed the corners of his eyes, then looked down at Dany. “I’ll be right back.”

He half ran to reach Cat before she could disappear into the cab she’d called, grateful his headache had begun to wane. “Cat,” he called, her face startled to find him approaching, hand retracting from the door handle. For a beat, he couldn’t find the words. “We’re all heading back to my - our - place. You’re...welcome to come, if you’re up for it.”

Her lips pulled into a quivering smile, looking at everything but him as she thought on it. “You don’t know how much I appreciate that,” she croaked, “but I’m quite tired.” Her eyes drifted to where Dany stood, where she had joined the others, then to Jon. “Congratulations. On everything. Ned was right, you know. He always knew you would do good things, that you’d be happy.”

Jon gave her a tiny nod. “Thanks for everything back there. I honestly don’t know that I’d be standing here if it weren’t for you.”

Cat smiled sadly, then lightly pat his arm. “You would be.”

With that, she opened the cab door, and Jon held it ajar for her as she took her seat. He closed it, and then had a final thought before she would leave, leaving his hand in the window so the driver wouldn’t depart before he finished. “Would you like to meet your grandchild in a few months?”

This time, and for the very first time, she grinned - a full, toothy smile that reached her aging, faded blue eyes. She nodded fervently. “I would love that.”

He smiled, a little bigger now. “Alright. I’ll make sure Robb keeps you updated, and we’ll make a day of it.”

“Thank you,” she uttered, waving him off as he made his way back to Dany and their friends.

“What was that all about?” She asked, securing her arm around his torso.

He kissed her forehead. “I’ll tell you when we get home.” He returned her warm smile. “Ready?”

“Gods, yes, Commander.”


	11. Love Me Tender

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm half asleep getting this out, but hope that you enjoy the fluff and sweetness!

Daenerys Targaryen was...well…

Jon wasn’t complaining.

“How much time do we have?” She breathed, her hands fumbling over the buttons of his shirt, his coat long abandoned somewhere along the way up to their bedroom.

He’d finally released her mouth to move down the silk of her neck, trying to figure out where the damned hidden fastenings were to her dress in the back. And since they’d been off the proverbial sex wagon for weeks, he’d been hard as a damn boulder when she continued shooting him lingering, heated glances downstairs. “Fifteen minutes,” he muffled against her shoulder, feeling a waft of air cross his skin, informing him that she was successful in unbinding his shirt.

“Just rip it,” she demanded weakly in regards to her own clothing, pulling his shirt off with one swift tug. It had been interesting, trying to behave on behalf of his doctor’s orders these past several weeks, when Dany had become nearly insatiable during her pregnancy. When they had gone to bed, she would create a barrier between them with various pillows, though they’d still always wake up holding one another. It did the trick, he supposed. Whenever he stepped out of the shower, in naught but a towel around his waist just to pick out some clothes, she would grunt her frustrations and immediately stomp out of the room. Sometimes he’d done nothing at all, at least nothing with intentional purpose, such as waking up with rumpled hair, or making her tea to wake up to on the nights that one of them had difficulty sleeping between his headaches and her growing physical discomfort.    
  
All of that pent-up hunger led to...all of this.

He lifted his head so he could meet her eyes. “But I like this dress,” he grumbled, still grappling for the zipper or buttons or whatever it was holding her hostage in this specific, cursed garment. Her eyes were so blown that the blue hue was nothing but a thin ring now, her hand flying up to her  _ side _ and pulling the zip down to her waist.

“Nevermind, I hate this dress,” he complained, and even if he  _ did _ want to tear it off of her, he was too mindful that he’d somehow hurt the swell of her belly. He slid it down to her waist, crouching before her so she could use him for balance - since she had little of it these days - and assisted her in being rid of it altogether.

Jon paused halfway on his way up to latch his mouth around a pebbled nipple, which had turned a dusky rose in the midst of her pregnant state. He was careful not to be too harsh, as her libido wasn’t the only thing hypersensitive anymore. Her hands laced into his hair, harsh pants blowing from her mouth, holding him close as he gently grazed his teeth against her nipple, making her flinch out of pleasure rather than pain, and flattening his tongue over it to soothe the warm skin there.

Just as he made to pay the same attentions to the other, kissing across the narrow valley of her breastbone, she tugged on his hair and sloppily ravaged his mouth instead. “That one can wait,” she said into his mouth. He pushed himself off the door where she had trapped him for the last several minutes, his hands roaming all of her body at his exposure while her hands worked to loosen his trousers.

They had only just gotten back from the trial the afternoon prior, and three quarters of that time was spent trying to avoid the simmering, feral gaze of his betrothed across the room when their home was filled with their friends and family. The last thing he wanted was to walk around with a very obvious erection; they would have assumed he was downright over the moon that they’d won by the skin of their teeth.

When the discussion of dinner had been brought upon them, and the lot of them couldn’t settle on anything, Dany had, quite persuadingly, suggested going into Wintertown and bringing home one of the infamous ham dinners she’d apparently heard so much about. Jon had no idea where of which she was speaking of, but when he had gone to say as much, she shot him a murderous glare and practically threw her purse at Missandei and shooed them all out. Her excuse for the pair of them not going was to  _ freshen up _ and decompress from the exhaustive trial. Which wasn’t entirely a lie. They both were still reeling from it, and it hadn’t quite sunk in yet what it all meant.

And, in the same beat that the front door had closed, she had attacked him, and then he understood the urgency.

It was much the same today.

His pants kicked off, Dany smoothed her hands down the length of the front of him, his muscles rippling in response as he pulled her flush against him. For a moment, he paused in thought, then cradled her in his arms before laying her down on the bed, but he didn’t follow. Instead, he retracted and positioned her hips at the end of the bed, his knees pressing into the hardwood floor as he propped each foot onto his shoulders.

“Oh, gods,” she moaned, before he had even begun, making him chuckle and earning him an appropriate pull on his hair. With around fifteen minutes to spare, that gave him enough time to toy with her before giving her what she wanted most, beginning with light, feathery kisses along the side of her calf. He trailed his lips as far as he could reach to the crook of her knee, and she was already squirming, though moreso attempting to slide her hips down toward his face.

“Not yet,” he rasped, scooting her back where he needed her, relishing in her whimper of disagreement. He lifted onto his knees higher, suckling and nibbling at the inner side of her thigh, nosing her swollen clit on the pass to her other leg. Her hand smacked the duvet beneath her, but then her fingers curled around it, her breaths growing ever more shallow, even as he reached her ankle.

“Jon, I need you,” she pleaded, her voice a pitch higher. “Up here, though.”

He ignored her request and peppered kisses along the sensitive, inner tendons where her thighs met her pelvis, his hands anchoring her hips to the bed. She was so saturated that he half wondered how long she had been in this mindset, his cock surging impossibly further at the thought as he tested her restraint with a light kiss to her clit.

She flinched, her free hand holding him prisoner between her legs so that he couldn’t be distracted by anything else but his task. He chuckled against her, sealing lips around the hardened flesh, swirling his tongue at the sides to avoid a blackout given how alight her nerves were at present.

A heady whine filled the room, her legs threatening to enclose around his head, but her held them apart as her heels dug into his shoulder, one of them hooking around to the middle of his back and pushing him closer. He growled at the warmth of her, the sweetness of her on his tongue, lapping over her slit and freeing his hands to gingerly massage her heavy breasts.

“I’m...so close,” she managed, his tongue jutting forward and thoroughly filling her, his nose brushing over her clit and thumbs sweeping over her hardened nipples.

Her hips jerked against him, and in the next second her body grew taut as she tightened around his tongue, palpitating, her release a pleading and gasping breath. He could tell that she half silenced herself with a hand over her mouth, but even if their guests had returned, nothing could have suppressed her volume.

He had barely wiped his mouth clean when she was yanking him up with her, a quick glance at the alarm clock at the bedside giving him his five minute warning. His cock had threatened to spill only seconds before, so five minutes was practically a decade at this point. Dany looped her legs around his waist, pulling his face and body in tandem down to her so that there wasn’t a centimeter of them apart.

“I love you,” she whispered sweetly, gentle puffs of air seeping from her mouth as she still came down from her high.

“I love you more, Dany,” he nudged his nose against hers, claiming her mouth once more as he momentarily broke the seal at their hips and fisted himself, massaging her ripe entrance in slow circles, observing unblinking as her brow pinched at the middle and her mouth fell open, mouthing him.

With one easy push, he seated himself fully with a growl ripping through his throat, dropping his head against her shoulder. He pulled out, slowly, his next thrust scrubbing deliciously against her clit and forcing her back off the bed. Though her stomach was providing a bit of an obstacle, it forced him to work at an angle that proved beneficial, taking advantage and curling an arm beneath her, elevating her hips, drawing a soundless cry from her as he set a steady pace. Every few withdraws he nearly pulled out, prodding shallowly before surging fully into her, grunting with each drive.

Skin clammy, he could feel the familiar clenching around his cock, his eyes rolling when she began to meet him thrust for thrust while his own movements became erratic and less measured. He dipped his head, collecting a puckered nipple into the cavern of his mouth, and it was the wild, unrestrained keen that fell through her lips that had him coming, her silken walls fluttering violently around him as he drove into her only a few more times and stilled, reaching a hand between them and gently massaging her clit with the blunt, soft pads of his fingers to help reach her peak. Her nails sunk into the skin at his back, thighs squeezing his flank as she descended from the peak, her hands the first to relax against his scorned back.

Muscle by muscle, he loosened, flopping beside her after he had softened and gently pulled out of her. Dany’s hairline was damp, as was her forehead, her eyes closed as she practiced regulating her breathing in time with him. He absorbed all of her then, with his eyes, propping his head up onto his hand and tracing over her skin with his fingers.

Their chance meeting felt so long ago, he thought idly with his index and middle fingers smoothing beneath the curvature of her breast closest to him. Evidence of their reunion, the large swell of her belly - when they’d thought six weeks was grueling - suited her. Then again, there wasn't anything that didn't. The glow of pregnancy only served to enhance her obscene attractiveness.

He flattened his hand as it came upon where their baby lay, instantly grinning like a mad man, sliding down the bed and tucking his head in the space between her breast and the slope. Dany’s hand moved to card through his hair, humming her contentment as he kissed the incline of her stomach, his arm cradling around it. There was a prod near the crook of his elbow, turning Dany’s hum into a grunt, and then a laugh.

Smirking, Jon shifted his hand to lay where the nudging continued. “Be nice to your mama in there,” he mumbled against her skin, inciting a riot of movement that had Dany both wincing and cackling, her knees drawing up quick.

“Think we have a stubborn one on our hands,” he chuckled, lifting to pepper kisses all over the almost spherical shape. Every few gestures, the taught skin pulled and stretched, giving her belly the most bizarre shapes when the baby held them for a few moments.

“I blame you,” Dany teased, rolling to her side, eyes sparkling and cheeks still pink.

Jon arched a brow, laying next to her despite knowing their company would return at any given second. He loved the lot of them, as did Dany, but right now all he wanted was  _ this _ , shifting as close to her as was physically possible. “You volunteered, darling,” he smirked coyly, his hand a permanent fixture on her stomach.

“You seduced me,” she countered, feeling her hand snake down and palm his ass.

Eyes narrowing thoughtfully, he nudged her nose with his. “I was simply trying to keep you warm.”

Her feigned pout swifty morphed into a goofy grin, tilting her chin up to kiss him plentifully. Before he knew it, she rolled them over and pinned his hands at either side of his head, his legs rising to steady her at her sides as she teetered precariously on his hips.

“What are you getting up to?” He tried to stifle a groan, but the friction of her already-slick cunt slotted perfectly over him, his cock springing to life again.

Grinning wickedly, she lowered her head, pressing her lips against his, probing his lips until he complied her request for entry. He moaned, hips rising to meet her slick core, a sharp breath of air sucked through her nose upon impact. “We have to go,” she whispered against him, forcing all of his limbs to slump with a childish groan.

It would have been more difficult to give this moment up - now that they were sated - if they weren’t going to Dany’s next obstetrician appointment. A general checkup, now that her vomiting had ceased completely, to ensure that her body was where it should be in terms of nutrition, and to ensure their baby was mostly on track.

He pecked her lips and her cheeks before helping her off of him, swinging his legs over as they cleaned up and dressed again. Dany did some quick touching up to her hair, whilst Jon didn’t bother fighting with the curly tangles, pulling it all back into a knot behind his neck. The one downside to living in the country was that it was almost an hour’s drive to her physician and the hospital. He just hoped the little one would give them enough time to prepare to make it in time; the last thing he wanted was a roadside birth and potentially putting either of them in danger.

They bid Ghost a temporary farewell, the poor boy always acting anxious whenever they left the house these days. Still, he couldn’t be happier with Daenerys as a permanent figure now, frequently curling up at her feet every night, sometimes nodding her protruding belly.

* * *

As they sat in the waiting room, hands entwined on the shared armrest between them, their cab ride there had Jon considering finally purchasing their own vehicle. They would come and go as they pleased, and more especially when the both of them found new jobs. To haul a baby back and forth, when they would be wrapped around the baby’s schedule rather than a cab service’s, would be nauseating.

Those thoughts were quickly doused when Dany’s name was called. He felt inexplicably nervous, perhaps because this was the first time he was able to be with Dany during one of her appointments. The last one, he had been too ill with a migraine, and though he tried to fight that he wanted and  _ needed _ to be there with her, he knew that she knew best for his wellbeing, promising him that it was just the standard wellness check-in and nothing out of the ordinary. Plus, he needed to be in his best shape before the trial, rest his body to the fullest extent.

Jon blew out a breath of air as they stood, and Dany smiled warmly at him, squeezing his hand. He felt a little foolish; she’d done this a few times already, as cool as a cucumber, yet he could almost feel a tremble coming on. How the hells would he survive the actual birth?

The nurse, named Shireen, greeted them with a kind smile, though she appeared barely old enough to be a nurse herself. She showed them their room and asked Dany some basic questions, while Jon seated himself in an iron chair in the corner across from the bed Dany was stationed at. The nurse left, and a few minutes passed before Dr. Olenna Tyrell stepped in.

On the opposite end of the spectrum, this woman looked too  _ old _ to be working, but he remembered Dany speaking highly of her, so he kept his facial expression impassive. Dr. Tyrell made her kind greetings to them both before getting down to business, and when she had Dany lay back, for some reason he felt overwhelmingly jittery. Dany shifted so that she could see him where she lay, and reached her hand out for him.

She could read him like a book at this point. He smiled, walking over to sit at the sliver of space beside her, collecting her hand and kissing her knuckles before setting their joined hands in his lap. Dr. Tyrell lifted the hem of Dany’s blouse and folded it at the top of her ribs, plugging her stethoscope into her ears, and gently pressed the diaphragm around several points of her belly. Jon watched her intently, with her face placid and thin brows drawing together every so often. Dany gently squeezed his hand, he returned the favor.

He felt as though he’d been holding his breath the whole time, until Dr. Tyrell removed the stethoscope and began to press her hands, one atop the other, in a similar path as her tool. One moment, she seemed to press so deep he drew in a silent, sharp breath, but Dany didn’t flinch. Dr. Tyrell went over to wash her hands, then came back.

Dany pulled her top back down, and Jon helped her sit back up. Dr. Tyrell began flipping through and reviewing some documents on a clipboard. “So, Ms. Targaryen, you are approximately just over six months along now.”

“Mhm,” she hummed, lips ticked upward. Jon scooted backward a bit, allowing her to lean back against him a bit.

“And your last visit here, you mentioned some concerns over your growth, that you felt you were gaining too much weight too quickly, because you have worked with pregnant women in the past.”

“Yes.”

“Well,” Dr. Tyrell drawled, making Jon’s stomach riot, half expecting bad news. But then her face lit up, eyes darting between each of them. “From what I can tell, your fluid levels as well as your growth are consistent with the trajectory of the pregnancy. However...there are two heartbeats.”

Jon blinked. Nobody moved for what felt like hours. “You said...you said two? As in, two babies? Or...one baby with…?”

Dr. Tyrell nodded. “Two babies.”

A strangled squeak left Dany, her hand flying up to her mouth as she turned toward him, his arms subconsciously wrapping around her. He didn’t even notice that Dr. Tyrell had left the room until a pair of soft hands pulled his face down, perfect, watery blue eyes peering up at him. “Are you alright?” Dany breathed, sniffing.

His tongue felt thick in his mouth. Dany’s thumb swiped gently along his cheek beneath his eye, the slight waft of air telling him he’d shed tears and didn’t realize it. Finally, he looked down at her, huffing a small laugh of disbelief, pressing his forehead to hers with a tiny nod. “Aye. Are you?”

“Mm,” she pecked his lips, pulling him back to see him clearer, “you wanted two,” she whispered, brushing her fingertips over his beard.

He pulled a face, head bobbing left to right in mock thought. “I wanted three, hoped for two.”

Dany lowered her hand and pinched his neck, grinning wildly. “Don’t get greedy unless you’re planning on birthing at least half of them.”

He chuckled, dipping down to press his lips to hers, becoming suddenly aware they were still in the exam room. Slinking his arms around her waist, he helped her slide off the bed. Dany made her next appointment before they left, all of which continued to be a blur.

Two babies.  _ Two _ . Twins. He had a lot of work to do.

When they stepped outside of the office, Jon realized he had forgotten to set up a ride for them, but an idea sprung to him. They were in Wintertown, free of war and looming trials and their worries to overshadow them. He turned to Dany, who still had a permanent smile on her face. She was glowing.

“I have an idea,” he offered, taking up her hand and kissing her knuckles when she rotated to face him, so lovely and sweet.

* * *

Dany couldn’t remember a time in recent memory when she had been so thoroughly exhausted by having too much fun. Maybe the fair with Jon, all those months ago, but work had been such a burden that it was more likely from that.

They booked a hotel in the heart of the town, after spending their remaining afternoon hours playing guide and tourist. There was ice cream involved, random trinkets purchased, and they had even stumbled upon a homey little shop full of a range of clothing. They didn’t know the babies genders, and wouldn’t until they were born, but Dany couldn’t help herself but to pick out a few outfits - a few for boys, a few for girls. She even caught Jon fawning over some of the most adorable little, tiny dresses, and a particular pair of brown leather shoes, so she snatched them up before he could protest.

They almost caught a film, but it had been getting late, and Dany’s stomach began to ache for food, and her feet from walking. When they secured a room, Jon used the phone to call Grenn and ask him the favor of keeping Ghost company for the night, and to  _ also _ remind the furry beast that he promised, from tomorrow morning on out, there would be no more surprise departures.

Now, as they lay down for bed, the fireplace raging and warming and their bellies full, damp and sated from languid lovemaking, there were some discussions that needed to be had.

Jon pushed a thick curtain of hair away from her face, his other arm tucked beneath her and wrapped around her back, bodies pressed together under the cotton sheets.

“If it’s two girls, we could make it easy and call them Lyanna and Rhaella,” she offered softly, her thumb smoothing lazily over his chest, eyes growing heavy with each stroke of his hand through her hair.

He smiled, wide and content. “I like that. What about boys?”   
  
“Hm,” she kissed his chin, “definitely not Aerys. If we give them special namesakes, Robb or Rhaegar? Or is that weird since Robb is still living?”

He breathed a small laugh. “It might go to his head a little bit.”

“What about Eddard? Little Ned,” she cooed, eyes widening a little.

He paused, leaning forward to seal his mouth over hers for a long, patient kiss, pulling away only enough that he could see her eyes. “Have you always wanted children, Dany?”

Her fingers danced over his arm, subconsciously tracing over the pronounced vein that always lay there. “Yes. But vaguely; it wasn’t something I wanted to hope for too strongly. Not until I met the right person, anyway,” her lips quirked into a small smile, smoothing away the wrinkle that formed between his brows with her thumb. “What about you?”

With a soft sigh, he let his palm rest on her stomach, the other side supported by a folded blanket since it was too tender to let it sit otherwise. “I longed for a family, but never thought I would have one.  _ Could _ have one.”

She nodded her understanding; she could see it in his eyes, hear his brain working. Not because he couldn’t sire a child - they were proof enough to denounce any doubts there - but that his name was too vilified for anyone to  _ want him _ . It made her heart soar, her chest ache, but selfishly, she was happy that she was the one who found him before anyone else could.

“I think…,” she whispered, grinning, “that the universe thought you suffered enough, and to make up for it, gave you two babies.”

That perked him up; she didn’t want him to fall into a pit of gloom. Not now, not ever. She would make it her job to ensure he never doubted his self-worth again. His arm curled around her and pulled her impossibly closer yet, nuzzling his face in her chest. She rested her chin atop his unruly mane of hair, holding him there. “Or, one for you and one for me...two to share,” he muttered, his plush lips kissing over her sternum.

Between the flickering of the flames and his warmth against her skin, she knew she wasn’t going to remain awake for very long. Exhaustion was quickly settling over her bones. “I like the sound of that.”

"I'm proud of you, by the way," she murmured, clarifying when he raised a brow in question, "for being so kind to Catelyn."

She watched as a muscle ticked in his jaw, knowing that even if they made mends, this was still a very sore subject. "I honestly don't know that I would've had the outcome I did if it weren't for her."

Dany looped her arm under and around him, fingering the curls at the nape of his neck. "I don't know," she drawled, "you're far too cute to waste away in a cell. I think Judge Mormont felt the same way."

Jon chuckled, reaching down to palm her arse, making her squeal, but thoroughly returning the favor. It was like soft, solid stone beneath her hand.

"I love you," he whispered, lifting his head to kiss her tenderly.

"I love you more."

* * *

**  
2 1/2 months later - October**

Since sleep had all but escaped her the last few months, Dany woke before anyone else that morning. Half of it was the trill of excitement fluttering wildly in her belly, or perhaps that was the activity of the babies fooling her. Or both.

She was careful to not stir Jon, Ghost laying in the middle between their legs. He had been laboring tirelessly. With the help of Tormund and Grey, and Robb where he was able, they had begun constructing an additional bedroom that would be next to theirs. The babies would sleep with them for the first several months, they'd agreed on that with no hesitation, and they could worry about a third room when the kids were older and wanted their own private spaces.

Dany tried to offer her hands, though she had no skill in manual labor, but the men were insistent she sit back in the event she got hurt. As much as she grumbled over it, it  _ did _ mean she got more bonding time with Missandei, Talisa, and Margaery.

And everyone was  _ happy _ . Robb had just finished therapy, learning how to walk with a prosthetic and go about his usual day to day occupations. He was only allowed to wear it for a couple hours at a time, relying on crutches when it was off, and Talisa at his side when he got too fatigued. While he wished to do it all on his own, she got him to relent and accept her help when it was needed.

Grey moved in with Missandei, now that Dany was permanently in Winterfell. Margaery had some choice words relating to late night activities that woke her up, but Dany, Talisa and Missandei were quick to point out how many months they tolerated  _ her _ escapades much to their chagrin. She waved them off and scoffed good-naturedly.

Jon and Dany had also agreed that they would wait to be wed. Once the babies were a little older, and they found their new normal, they thought to host an intimate little gathering at their home when the time came. Something casual and personal, without breaking the bank in the midst of all of their shifting lives.

When she stepped into the kitchen, it took her a moment to notice the blanket of white that replaced the yellowing grass. She gasped, padding over to the sliding door, pressing her palm to the glass but instantly retrieving it.

_ This _ was the sort of cold she wasn't used to.

Jon had been saying for a couple of weeks that their first snow was due any time now. This far north, they usually got the earliest rounds before the southern areas averaged somewhere around November or so.

The flakes were coming down thick, the sun completely swallowed up by layers of heavy gray clouds. She tugged Jon's sweater tighter around her - she'd become accustomed to stealing his most comfortable pieces, and they left her enough room to cozy up in.

A sudden brushing against her leg made her flinch, looking down to find Ghost joining her. She smiled, softly scratching just below his ear, his tail wagging. His front feet stomped a couple of times. "You want to take a romp out there, don't you?"

Red eyes peered up at her, mouth falling open with anticipation. Dany unlatched the door and pulled it open, watching as Ghost sped off and nearly disappeared into the snow. He found a drift that must have been formed by the wind overnight, hauling himself into it and coming out the other side, white powder going airborne off his back.

She giggled, then gasped, a tightening at her sides making her hand clutch the handle of the door she had just closed. She blinked, waiting a few seconds before it ebbed, exhaling after it. Her heart was in her throat; Dr. Tyrell did say she could experience false contractions, and more frequently the closer she was to giving birth, which she had been mildly over the past few days.

This, however, was definitely stronger than the others. After a few minutes, Ghost finished his business and Dany wiped him down with a dish towel, his laps around the yard making him pant heavily - much like a woman giving birth, actually.

"I have a feeling I'll be doing that very soon, boy," she beamed at him, tapping his frigid nose with her finger.

She got to her feet with far more effort than ever, then whimpered and braced her hand on the counter when it happened again, a bit stronger. Her teeth ground together, eyes squeezed shut as she waited for it to dissipate. “Not yet, babies,” she gasped, opening one eye to look out at the snow once more.

This couldn’t be a more inconvenient time to try and get to the hospital, if the twins were ready to make their debut.

Blowing out a breath, she felt the dizziness in her head subside once she sucked in some oxygen. Ghost whined up at her, marching toward her and back again, tail swishing anxiously. “It’s alright, Ghost,” she whispered, holding her hand out, his paw instinctively settling in her palm. She laughed, giving him a proper shake. “Yes, you are the best boy.”

Slowly, she rounded the counter, filled Ghost’s food and water dishes, and was just preparing to brew Jon some coffee and herself some tea when she had to pause. This time, she laid her elbows on the countertop, ducking her head onto her arms to ride it out.

These were far too frequent to be false, and increasing in pain. She would wait it out a bit longer, she thought, and see if maybe this was a fluke. Ghost chomped on his kibble, lifting his head to send her either a concerned or agitated look every so often. She put the kettle on the stove, began to prepare the pot for the coffee, and got it to pour before her stomach constricted.

“Ow,” she wheezed, resting her hands on her hips, trying to remember to breathe so that she wouldn’t give herself a spell and pass out.

Ghost whined again, longer this time, coming up to her hunched form and nosing at her hair, trying to find her face. She sucked in a deep breath of air through her nose, slowly exhaling through her mouth. They were stunted breaths until the pain waned. “I’ve a feeling we should wake up your papa, hm?”

She hated the idea of it - it was barely after six, but she could feel that these babies weren’t going to wait on their watch. She shuffled over to the base of the stairs, and there was suddenly something warm and wet streaking down her thighs. When she looked down, slightly lifting the sweater and her night gown, she discovered a small puddle on the floor at her feet.

“Oh.”

Before another contraction could hinder her further, she quickly cleaned up the mess on the floor, dabbing at her legs and disposed of the towel altogether. The stairs suddenly looked a lot more daunting, using the railing to pull herself up, but only making it halfway before she had to kneel.

She groaned, cradling her arm around her belly, her lower back twisting and seizing in turn with her front now. Ghost barreled past her, his blunt nails ticking against the wood. It was as if someone’s hands were trying to wring her dry from the inside out.

“Dany,” Jon’s voice seemed to materialize out of the air, moreso as her headspace was solely focused on wishing away the pain. Before she could look up, strong arms were wrapping around her, safely bringing her to the landing upstairs. He held her to him, save for his face which he ducked, his finger tilting her chin up, grey stormy eyes laden with concern.

“My water broke,” she muttered, absorbing the way every emotion seemed to cross his face, concluding with an ear-to-ear grin and a huff of disbelief, kissing each cheek and her lips. He heaved her up into his arms, setting her carefully down onto the bed, even against her protests that she didn’t want to ruin the bed sheets.

She had never seen a man move so fast in her life, she didn’t think, her heart swelling to impossible heights even as she could feel the looming pain at the base of her back. They’d begun packing a bag a few days ago, figuring it couldn’t hurt to at least start getting prepared, but Jon was tossing in various things she couldn’t track as another wave assaulted her.

He was kneeling before her in an instant, his hands gently massaging her back while she leaned her hands atop his bare shoulders, trying to be mindful to not dig her nails into his skin. His hands were everywhere, trying to help distract her and put her attention on him rather than the pain, but it was becoming too overwhelming to disassociate from it.

When relief came, he pressed his lips to her forehead. “Jon...I don’t think I’m going to make it to the hospital. And there’s snow.”

“Shit,” he hissed, and she could practically see his mind racing, looking about the room as if their answers lay there, landing on her again. “Maybe they can come to us.”

Without pause she nodded fervently, vaguely remembering that was an option one of the times she visited Dr. Tyrell. She wasn’t sure she could endure a slow, bumpy, and treacherous ride into town, and also didn’t want to wind up stranded and giving birth in a cab. Luckily, the phone was just at their side on the end table, and Dany rattled off the number while Jon made the arrangements. He was on the phone for a few more minutes, blanching, until he hung up.

He cleared his throat. “It’ll be at least an hour, but Dr. Tyrell gave me instructions just in case…,” his eyes fell to her belly, and she couldn’t help but giggle, taking his scruffy face into her hands.

“If there’s any one person I trust most in the world, it’s you,” she whispered, her brow twitching into a furrow as her skin tightened once more.

* * *

Towels had been spread over the bed, and Jon had ran downstairs between contractions to unlock the front door so that Dr. Tyrell could walk in when she arrived, bringing up a full glass of water for the end table. Dany was sitting against the headboard, pillows buffering her back, and Jon was perched in front of her, constantly holding her and rubbing her back, pressing a cool wet towel all over her damp skin. She had rid herself of most of her clothes a while ago, the heat too much for her to handle with every wave of pain. Jon gently brushed out her hair and tied it up and away from her face, shifting closer so that she was situated between his legs, her forehead a constant presence on his shoulder.

After an hour and twenty minutes, and the contractions coming in swift and hard to the point that tears were gathering in her eyes, Dr. Tyrell made her appearance. Jon went to move, to give the doctor the space she required, but Dany tearfully tugged on his hand, her eyes burning. He looked as though he might crumble, and she wondered what she must look like, but couldn’t bring herself to care.

So, he situated himself behind her, bringing his knees up and massaging her shoulders while she rested against him until she would need to move again.

“Deep breaths, dear. Don’t forget to breathe,” Dr. Tyrell urged gently, and Dany could hear the rustling of her bag, allowing her eyes to remain closed, trying to concentrate on Jon’s hands and the soft whisps of his breath in her ear.

The cool press of the stethoscope to her skin startled her a moment, but it warmed quick. The tension was returning. Jon shifted one hand to caress the skin where Dr. Tyrell wasn’t observing the movements, the other being clamped into a vice by her own doing.

“Breathe, breathe,” Dr. Tyrell said quietly. Ghost entered the room then, helping himself to the open space on the bed. Dr. Tyrell shot him a concerned look, but Dany hastily insisted that he be there. His presence was almost as calming as Jon’s, or as calm as it could be.

“Okay, Daenerys, I’m going to have you push soon, okay?”

“Oh, gods,” she whimpered, taking the opportunity to rest her weight against Jon, her heavy eyes finding his, boring into her.

“You’ve got this, darling,” he kissed her sweaty temple, hand smoothing back a few little stray hairs, “I’m staying here.”

Her brows were in a permanent pinch, nodding before she sought his lips, his feeling cool and lush against hers, warm and slightly dry.

Dr. Tyrell kept the stethoscope around her neck, her hands splaying over Dany’s belly. “We’re going to push on each contraction, okay? I’ll count you down. Push as hard as you can, and I will instruct you on when to relax and to breathe. Ready?”

All Dany could do was nod; her voice was forever trapped deep in her chest. Jon shifted a little bit straighter, moving to link their hands together, giving her a gentle and reassuring squeeze. Dany sat up as straight as she could, while Dr. Tyrell knelt on the bed, gingerly parting her legs in position. 

It was humorous - or would be any other time - how modesty became a thing of the past when giving birth.

“One...two...push!”

Dany’s face contorted as she sat forward, bearing down as hard as she could, a cool heat erupting over her skin and coating it in goose flesh. Dr. Tyrell urged her on, Jon following suit, the constant presence of him against her about the only thing keeping her in the present. The increasing pain, she felt, was almost enough to black out, and when Dr. Tyrell had her lay back, she pulled for air like a woman starved.

She slackened her grip on Jon’s hands, Dr. Tyrell giving her a beat and feeling for the next wave.

* * *

The sounds she was emitting were almost animalistic, grunting, groaning, panting, a curse word thrown in a time or two.

She supposed that’s what forty-seven minutes of pushing did to someone. The only time Jon got up was in the brief intermission between pushes, to wet a towel and wrap it around her neck and upper back. It did give her some relief, until she was pushing again.

“Almost there!” Dr. Tyrell announced, “a little more - okay! Good!”

Gasping, she fell back against Jon, forcing her eyes open to look down. It took a moment for the first baby’s squalling to start, which almost sent her into a panic, but Dr. Tyrell laid  _ him _ on a fresh towel, roughly but necessarily wiping him down and removing all of the fluid from his tiny nose and mouth.

A sobbing laugh fell from her lips, watching as four limbs flailed about, screaming his concern for this new environment to the world. She didn’t think she could love anything more, afraid her heart was full to bursting, feeling a hand turn her face as Jon placed several kisses to her mouth. She lifted her hand to hold him there a moment longer, her thumb sweeping away his tear-ridden cheek.

Dr. Tyrell tucked their little boy in a separate fresh, warm towel after she made some measurements and jotted down several notes, and almost immediately his wails subsided into soft murmurs. She walked him over, Jon straightening himself as she placed the bundle in Dany’s arms, giving her a small rest before she would need to push for the next.

It felt out-of-body to hold this little, miniature version of themselves, dark, thin hair coating his head, eyes slow to open and close and try to bring his surroundings into view. Jon rested his chin on her shoulder, bringing his arm around, prodding his little fist with a finger, and immediately the tiniest fingers gripped him to the point that his flesh turned white.

“He’s beautiful,” Jon mumbled sincerely, wiggling his finger as dark eyes gawked up at his mother. She giggled, nuzzling her nose against his, cringing as her body reminded her she wasn’t quite done yet.

The pain that she felt was excruciatingly hot and numb, like she’d been seared in her lady parts, but somehow it also felt numb. She handed off the baby to Jon, and Dr. Tyrell resumed her coaching. Jon managed to finesse his right arm free, locking it with hers.

This time, by the grace of the seven, it was only fifteen more minutes before the second was out and was so silent, she  _ did _ begin to panic, lurching forward to get a glimpse at the little body. Jon was right behind her.

“She’s a curious one, this little girl of yours,” Dr. Tyrell cooed, and the relief that washed over Dany was near enough to send her into the abyss. Jon pressed her lips to the curvature where her shoulder met her neck, heaving a sigh of relief, his hands running over the sides of her now-empty belly.

The moment Dr. Tyrell finished all of her tasks, confirming both babies were equally healthy, she laid their daughter in her waiting arms, and now she was allowed to slouch against Jon. She leaned against one side while he held their son against his other, unable to ogle at just one. Both of them had dark hair, mimicking their handsome father, their daughter’s eyes roaming the room even though she couldn’t yet see anything too sharply.

It took a bit to clean up, and Dany felt a distant guilt that Dr. Tyrell was doing all of the dirty work, but she was absolutely exhausted. When it was suggested she try to feed them, while Dr. Tyrell was still there to help her in case she had latching issues, Jon helped unlatch her bra and remove it. Dr. Tyrell moved to their side, her hands helping guide and urge their daughter first, since she as wide awake. It took quite a few tries, between the baby just wanting to gum at Dany’s nipple and unsuccessful getting a good suction, before she began to suckle at last.

Dany grinned widely, beaming down at her. “Now,” Dr. Tyrell said, keeping her voice low, “feeding times will vary over time. They might be hungry at the same time, or completely opposite the other. But since it’s probably been some time, let’s try to get your son some sustenance as well, shall we?”

Dr. Tyrell helped instruct the both of them on a few ways they could position the babies during simultaneous feedings, and also had Jon doing most of the work in helping getting their son to wake up at least a little bit and to latch. The little one was quicker to adapt than his sister, his tiny hand grasping at her breast like he’d been starved for days. Dany could hear Jon release a breath of air he’d been holding, turning her face to peck his lips. He looked as weary as she felt.

Dr. Tyrell gave them a list of helpful instructions, and once the babies were fed and resting, she helped them get comfortable. Dany took up the armchair in Jon’s bedroom after they carefully laid each one in a crib each, but when they started to whine and fuss, it was advised by her doctor that since they shared a womb, they may feel more comfortable sharing a sleeping space, too. The moment they were together, facing each other, they drifted back into a soundless sleep.

Dr. Tyrell had given Dany some medication to help with the pain, leaving her a couple of weeks worth to get her by for a while. It was a challenge just to go from the bed to the cribs to the armchair, sinking into it as much as she could without agitating her nether regions.

Jon and Dr. Tyrell both stripped the bed, the used towels tossed in a bag Dr. Tyrell would dispose of, while Jon disappeared briefly to put the sheets in the wash. Ghost slumped at her feet on the floor, looking up and resting his jaw on her knee. She lazily reached down and ran her fingers over his snout, entering the twilight stage of sleep until Jon was waking her.

Dr. Tyrell had already gone, the room now spotless, fresh plush bedding laid out. Blinking herself awake, she was brought to the bathroom, new towels laid out in the tub as Jon lowered her in and washed her down with an impossibly soft sponge. She was grateful the room was so small, not so far away from their newest loves. 

He managed to get her hair clean, scrubbed behind her ears, and was careful to not come into contact with the tenderness between her thighs, save to wash around it.

With her head lying against the tub wall, she watched him through her lashes, absently shaking her head as she observed his dire concentration. Brows pulled taut, lips slightly parted. Her heart thumped and her stomach churned, in the same way it did the first time she had laid eyes on him, and every instance thereafter.

“How are you so good to me?” She asked weakly.

When he turned to face her, she was surprised to see he’d been silently crying, but in her grogginess she hadn’t noticed. He inched closer to her, sliding his hand under her jaw, his thumb brushing her chin, eyes settling there before locking with hers. Slowly, he shook his head. “You...are magic,” he huffed a laugh of disbelief, meeting her halfway for a hearty kiss, delicate yet unrelenting.

After her hair and body were rinsed, Jon continued to tend to her, dressing her in another one of his soft sweater and bottoms, even going to extra mile to help her fit into the hideous panties that Dr. Tyrell had been so kind to bring for her, lined with an absurd section of cotton for her bleeding.

Jon was gentle in towel drying her hair, noting that he didn’t want her to have to sleep on a damp pillow. She wished that she hadn’t been so worn to the marrow so that she could obsessively pine over how much she loved him, appreciated him, but even if she was wide awake and jovial, there were no words in the common tongue  _ nor _ Valyrian that could surmount to her feelings toward him.

After flicking the lights off, he carried her to the bed, laying her on the side closest to the occupied crib. She peeked into it, a watery smile splitting her face. At some point, their babies had found the other, their son’s two fingers enveloped in their daughter’s.

Tomorrow, they could settle on names.

But for now, Jon crawling in behind her, bringing the blankets up to their waists and pressing himself against her, Ghost against their feet, she would let her body and mind rest, her heart never fuller.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YAY FOR BABIES!!  
> My friends, there is only one chapter left to go! It will be an epilogue of sorts, full of all of the happiness these babies deserve. Thank you so much for reading, stay safe out there, and see you soon!


	12. 'Till The End of Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pure fluff and happiness for our loves (featuring a special moodboard for this last bit). Enjoy(:

  
  
Jon swore he would never a single day go by, for the rest of his life, where he would be apart from Dany. He made the same oath when their children were born.

But he did relent - with persuasion from her closest friends who promised to make sure she was well-tended to and spoiled on their girls trip to Highgarden. It was their wedding week, after all. Five terribly, torturously long days without even so much as a phone call being allowed. Margaery insisted it would only make the sex after the celebrations that much better, and somehow the idea of ‘improving’ their sex life had every single one of their friends on board for a contactless five days.

Sure, the last ten months had proved an interesting feat working around twins around the clock, but they did manage to get creative. Sometimes it would be a quick romp against the bathroom wall, or if they were lucky, they would sync up and wake in the middle of the night - once the twins had begun sleeping more than three hours in a sitting - and he could make love to her at their leisure.

But neither of them would trade it for the world. Not the endless cycle of trading off children when one wanted one parent over the other, of the one month with the completely out of sync schedules, the blow-out diapers that tangled in their hair, the relentless sleep deprivation that threatened to swallow them whole.

Even as Rhae managed to pull a bag of flour off the kitchen counter at grandma Cat’s house, her brother squealing from the other end of the room and waddling on wobbly legs to join her in the mess.

Jon was playing against the rules, but he missed them terribly, and besides, only Dany was off limits. Nobody said anything about cutting one’s bachelor party short so he could sneak a visit to see his two little loves. Robb and all the guys gave him shit about it, saying he was whipped and needed to get out of the house for once in his life...but he wasn’t denying it. Dany was the first real joy in his life. Of  _ course _ he was wrapped around her and what they created together.

Not only that, but shortly after the babies were born, he made the push to call Catelyn and leave an open offer on the table that she was more than welcome into their lives, if she so chose to. She had come over the next day, after several minutes of reassurances that all was forgiven - Jon didn’t have enough room in his heart for bitterness. The way in which her face lit up, bright as the summer sun that had all but eluded them that winter, had made it worth the effort to mend their bristly relationship (or lack thereof).

Ever since then, she was a constant presence, whether by their home or her own. She only lived twenty minutes from the cottage, which worked out perfectly for all of them to keep in touch frequently. They had spoken much about Ned, exchanging memories of him that were exclusive to each of them. She filled in the gaps of his long lost cousins he never knew, Sansa and Arya, who were away in Dorne for university. Jon saw them on occasion, when they would stop in to visit home, but the distance made it difficult to come often.

Still, as with everyone, they were taken with the twins, even going so far as to consider transferring to a closer school so they wouldn’t miss out on them. But, Cat gave them a stern warning that they needed to finish their two years there, then they could talk. Jon was just relieved that his cousins held no resentment for him; he was pretty certain that Cat had never spoken highly of him to them. As it turned out, they’d not heard much about him at all. He didn’t know whether or not that should have hurt, but he supposed it was better than a tainted reputation.

Jon tisked at Rhae with his hands on his hips, who was squalling with delight as little Ned sprung into action across the kitchen floor to join his sister’s mess. Jon swooped in. “I don’t think so, little man,” he scooped up Ned in his arms, curling him up with a squeal as he planted a dozens of kisses all over his chubby cheeks.

Rhae protested, thrusting her arms upward and creating a plume of flour dust all around her, like snow. “And you, little miss, are going to need a bath,” he said, grunting as he bent down and collected her in his other arm.

Cat chuckled over the stove, where she had been for much of the afternoon, putting together a home-made dinner of hearty beef and barley soup, potatoes, and baking treats for the big day tomorrow. 

He and Dany had gone back and forth on some of the arrangements of the wedding. By their luck, Rhae had begun learning how to walk nearly three weeks ago - too fast for his heart - and Ned was right behind her, though he still preferred to crawl or scoot. Now they could have their flower girl and ring bearer, with some assistance, of course. 

It was to be a modest affair, as they had agreed upon, in their home. The yard was plenty big, especially for a small party. They would have food brought in from Wintertown, tents and lights set up, and a blazing fire when the sun went down. Though it was August, usually the height of their summer, the nights still cooled down drastically.

Their last winter had been the most special yet. With the babies arriving about a week or so early, on the first snow of the season, and with it brought Dany’s joy in experiencing true winter for the first time. Even despite the residual pain she had been in from the birth, to intermittent latching problems with the babies, her happiness never faltered. There were moments of tears and frustration, when she felt she wasn’t able to properly produce a means of sustenance for their babies, but he made certain he was there to reassure her every step of the way. They had supplemental food for them when her breasts were extra stubborn, or when the babies couldn’t suction successfully, and now here they were: healthy, independent, empathetic, and no less loved.

“I’ll do the bathing; you ought to go home and get some rest,” Cat suggested, switching off the stove and pulling two pans of various cookies from the oven, storing away her oven mits and helping him in cleaning up the mess.

Jon had a damp cloth in his hand, attempting to wipe away what he could on Rhae’s exposed skin. Her mother’s eyes looked up at him, large and vibrant blue, curly hair as wild as his. Ned, on the other hand, boasted the silver-blonde of Dany, but his own brownish-grey eye coloring. It remained a mystery for quite some time, since they were both born with deep blue eyes and dark hair. Poor Ned had a period of awkward hair growth - a long patch atop his head, while the rest fell out, and all of it lightened. Rhae’s just became a menace to tame - much like his own.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind…,” he trailed off, nibbling at Ned’s fingers when he had begun prying at Jon’s lips, instantly regretting it when flour coated his tongue, grimacing.

“I promise they’re in good hands. Isn’t that right, little one?” Cat nuzzled Rhae’s nose, emitting a squeak of agreement from her. “Anyway, Robb and Talisa will be here soon. They’ll be more than willing to help if they get rambunctious.”

Jon smiled. He had been there for at least two hours longer than he intended, but he couldn’t help it. Every time he went to leave, one of them did something that reeled him back in. He was such a sucker for them. He would never survive the day they left home, and he knew Dany felt the same.

“I know,” he sighed, conceding, then propped each child onto his legs, eyeing them seriously. “You be good for grammy, okay? And uncle Robb and aunt Talisa. Make sure you sleep, and you eat, and I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Half of the time he spoke, different parts of his face were being prodded, his hair a favorite in their little fists, yanking and making his face bunch up. He planted sloppy kisses to their faces and gave them each a squeeze, carefully handing them over to Cat as he pushed to his feet.

As he made for the door, one of them began to whimper - and the other mimicked them - and he tossed his head back, chest aching. When he turned around, Cat was laughing, hand outstretched and guiding him toward the door. “Go on now, else you’ll miss your own wedding.”

“I’m going, I swear, just-” he gave Rhae and Ned each another kiss on their cheeks, gently prying Rhae’s arms from around his neck. He had to go; this was quickly becoming torture for all of them, waving them off and walking out to the car. The car that they had caved on when spring had arrived, because it had been hell maneuvering through the slushy, snowy roads when they were all due for doctor visits.

It was nearing dusk when he pulled up. When he pushed open the front door, Ghost was in his usual place, standing at the door with his tail wagging furiously. “Hey, boy,” he massaged his fingers into the thick fur at his neck, pushing the door closed behind him. “It’s weird here without them, isn’t it?”

He went into the kitchen and filled up Ghost’s bowls, using the time to pick up a bit more around the house. Looking outside, he smiled at the set-up that he and the guys had finished yesterday after they had returned home - a mini bachelor party in Torrhen’s Square. It wasn’t anything too fanciful, and one parent needed to be close by in case the babies needed them (an hour was lost between him and Dany insisting who should be the one to stay). Jon wasn’t entirely fond of the idea of getting into an airplane anytime soon, so he won that battle. He was still experiencing some horrid nightmares as a result of the war, but the twins were a good distraction when they, too, woke in the night. His doctor informed him they would probably lessen over time, but some traumas stuck with you forever. So long as he didn’t grapple in any unhealthy coping mechanisms, there wasn’t much room for worry, unless they began to interfere with his day-to-day living.

After a lengthy walk with Ghost, Jon showered, hung his suit for tomorrow, and then because he was on autopilot, checked the twins’ room, only to remember they weren’t in their cribs. Ghost stood silently, watching him, likely judging him, before switching off the light and crawling into bed. Ghost happily flopped down beside him, no doubt relishing in all of the extra space he had with Dany away.

“Just a couple of bachelors tonight, huh, guy?” He huffed a laugh through his nose, Ghost’s exhausted body making the bed shake with his heavy pants as he tried to cool off from their walk.

The phone ringing on the nightstand made both of them stand to attention, and Jon sat up, reaching over to bring the receiver to his ear. “Hello?” He looked over at the alarm clock. It was nearing ten o’clock.

“What are you wearing right now?” Dany’s voice came, making him slump happily into the bed with a dopey grin on his face.

“Why don’t you come home and find out?”

She groaned. “Why did we think five days was a good idea?”

“I don’t know, but I hate myself for agreeing to it,” he grumbled. “I may have cheated and checked on the kids…”

“Hey!” She laughed, making him grin even wider. “How are our babies?”

“Getting into trouble and keeping Cat busy.”

“Hm,” Dany hummed a laugh, “and Ghost? I didn’t forget about him. Make sure you tell him that.”

Jon looked down at the beast, whose head was resting on Jon’s stomach, eyes squeezed shut. “I don’t know, Dany. I think he’s pretty content having the bed between just the two of us again,” he teased.

“No way,” she scoffed, “he prefers to sleep on my side of the bed  _ with _ me, remember?”

He chuckled softly - yes, he remembered, though they theorized that Ghost simply wanted to be closer to the babies when they all slept in the same room. He had been a little bit wary at first, unsure of such tiny, unpredictable, noisy little things, but he warmed up after a few weeks of slow introduction. And, he was the best big brother, knowing exactly his limitations when the three of them wanted to play together. And, likewise, they were adamant to teach the kids what was and was not appropriate when handling Ghost - no climbing, riding, pulling tails or ears or any body parts.

Now they were thick as thieves.

“Where are you now?” Jon asked, drawing idle shapes into Ghost’s fur.

“Wintertown,” she said, “we flew back this morning and didn’t want to have to travel too far and risk being late tomorrow, so we ditched White Harbor.”

Smiling, he could feel grogginess settling in over him. A combination of the past few days, Dany’s voice in his ear, and the dark on the room. “Remember we did this every night for almost two months?”

“Yes, it was torture,” she said longily, “I miss you. I should just come home.”

Gods, how terribly he wanted to tell her to, but now he was anticipating the surprise in seeing her tomorrow, all in her dress and bright-eyed. He glanced over at the clock again. “I miss you, too. Almost fifteen hours to go,” he noted, realizing how distant that felt to say it out loud. “Did you have fun?”

“Oh, gods. Lots. And I managed to stay sober most of the time,” she mused, making him laugh. “What about you?”

He snorted. “Aye, but I may have cut it short so I could get a few hours in with Rhae and Ned.”

“Jon!” Dany giggled. “I shouldn’t talk. That was about all I talked about the entire trip. If I was closer I probably would have done the same thing. Oh! Guess what?”

His brows raised on their own accord, despite her not being there physically to see it. “You’re pregnant?”

She heaved a sigh. "Yes."

He sat bolt upright, upsetting Ghost, his heart in his throat as he tried to do some quick calculations. She had been off limits for at least six weeks after the births - and was still tender for some days after that. Surely…? "Really?"

"No!" She exclaimed with false annoyance, then dissolved into giggles. He exhaled a breath of relief; while he wanted nothing more than an enormous brood of their lookalike spawn, he wasn't sure he was quite ready to be outnumbered. Especially now that the twins were on a fairly consistent schedule,  _ and _ they slept well. "But Missi is," she added after a moment.

Just as he was settling in relief, excitement stirred him again: Dany had long been wondering if their babies might have any friends - or cousins - around the same age, since everyone’s relationships appeared to be thriving. The fact that it was her best friend first - he knew she would be elated beyond words. “That’s incredible, darling,” he cooed, wishing she were physically here, and not just a voice.

He really was whipped, but he couldn’t bother to care.

“Isn’t it?” Dany practically squealed; she was probably restless wherever she was sitting, or laying. “Grey meant to tell you soon, but I only knew because she turned down every alcoholic drink brought to her, so I had to pull her aside. She’s only just at the two month mark.”

“We’ll have to help protect her tomorrow, then,” he said, “it’ll be more noticeable with endless alcohol being served.”

“Mm. Good point. I expect everyone will be drunk within the first hour to notice anything off-kilter.”

“You know, I have yet to see  _ you _ drunk,” he drawled, one corner of his lips turning up.

“And I, you,” she replied with a yawn. “I suppose we ought to remedy that tomorrow, hm?”

Missandei and Grey did insist on keeping the twins tomorrow night. No doubt all of the festivities would tucker them out, and then they could all be reunited again. “I’ll be on my best behavior.”

“I don’t want you to be,” she muttered, “we only have so many years to embarrass our children and get away with it, you know.”

Jon chuckled sleepily, rubbing at his eye as Ghost shifted to lay against him, probably sick of Jon’s constant movement. “No, we just have to get more creative once they get older. They have to remember at least some of our stunts.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Hey,” he said softly.

“Hm?”

He laughed lightly. “Get some sleep. I have big plans for you tomorrow.”

“But I want to hear your voice,” she mumbled with as much enthusiasm as she could muster, sounding distant, as if perhaps the phone had slid a little further from her mouth.

Jon smiled, feeling his eyes closing on him. “In a few short hours you can have all of me. Forever. I love you.”

“I love you more.”

* * *

✈️👗💄🐺  


* * *

"Are you sure it'll fit?" Dany asked nervously, for at least the third time that morning.

"Mrs. Stark," Margaery stated firmly, unknowingly giving Dany goosebumps at the thought of being  _ Mrs. Stark. _ "You are the most gorgeous woman to ever walk the earth. You had  _ two _ babies come out of your probably -as-equally gorgeous vagina-"

"Seven hells," Dany muttered.

“Someone needs a filter,” Talisa added.

"-and you still look like..," Margaery wildly gestured her hands to all of Dany, who was stripped down to nothing but the skimpiest set of lingerie she'd ever worn. It made her skin flush at her own reflection, hands idly smoothing over the evidence of where her womb stretched her belly to what had felt like it's limits. Flushing when she thought of what Jon's reaction would be both after several days apart, and not being able to indulge in one another like this in nearly a year or more.

Margaery, Missandei, and Talisa were buzzing about her, never allowing her to lift a finger (literally, as Missandei brought food  _ to _ her mouth), nagging that she deserved to be pampered and they promised Jon she would be. It was only partly true - time to herself was rare, but she never thought to sell it out. The twins were a constant handful, always needing, but she wouldn't trade it for the world. And Jon? She would bet her life that there was no better father or husband that ever existed in the history of mankind.

Only  _ maybe _ was she a little biased, but she adored and cherished the wild and the crazy moments, the quiet and the calm that followed after hours stacked of caring for the little ones - and each other. While her and Jon's time together had been an ever-shifting and furiously unprecedented in the speed in which everything happened, there was no world nor dream that could prove any more perfect than what she had.

They were alive, they were fiercely in love, and their lives had only just begun. No more fear.

Talisa doted on Dany's face, keeping the makeup mostly light - too much always washed her out. Light mascara, a little liner, a dusting of pink to her cheeks, and a pop of rosey pink lip color.

Meanwhile, Missandei and Margaery were helping her slip into her dress, deciding to forget about worrying whether or not the remnants of her stomach might show or not. The last ten months running back and forth and lots of carrying babies around, as well as time in general, had helped her get much of her shape back, but she resembled the figure she had when she was a couple of months pregnant. A little looser, marked with leftover stretch marks.

Jon made sure to love on them whenever he could; whenever they found a sliver of time to themselves. It made her grow to love them, too: a visual of what she and her body created, this safe little home for their babes to thrive in. Subconsciously, she smiled, forgetting that she was supposed to be helping get herself into the dress.

“I don’t know why you bothered with such a lovely dress,” Margaery muttered, lifting up the front while Missandei took up the back, “when you know it’s going to be torn down to the stitching the moment you two are alone.”

Dany snorted, holding the bust to her chest, while Missandei giggled behind her. “Keep in mind it was  _ you _ who put the idea of, what was it, ‘existentially mind-numbing sex’ into Jon’s head. Whatever becomes of this dress is all your fault.”

Margaery smirked coyly, eyebrows bouncing upward. “I have no regrets.”

  
Good-naturedly, Dany rolled her eyes, looking up in the mirror once more as Margaery kept the gown upright while Missandei buttoned her up in the back. It reminded her of how much Jon loathed complicated, time-consuming bindings. The dress was definitely going to suffer later, as the buttons began at the middle of her mid-upper back, down to the small of her back.

“Missi?” Dany turned her head over her shoulder, Margaery promptly correcting her posture so she could make some finishing touches to her hair. “Why are you so quiet?

There was a distinct wet sniff behind her, and Dany stilled Margaery’s hand in her locks and Talisa pulled away to observe what all the commotion was about. When Dany turned, she found Missi reduced to tears, and for one heart-stopping moment, her mind instantly wondered if something was happening with the baby within her...until Missi beamed at her, watery and quivering.

“Look at you,” she croaked, dabbing at her polished face with a tissue.

“Oh, gods, now I’m going to cry,” Dany whimpered, wafting air towards her eyes to keep her face dry. Then she pulled her best friend into a tight embrace, uncaring what all might become unkempt in the process or Margaery’s protests behind her. “I love you. This doesn’t change anything between us, you know that, right?”

She felt it as Missi nodded, holding her arms around Dany’s back gingerly. “I know. I just...Dany, we’ve been through it  _ all _ , haven’t we? We’re not even thirty yet!”

They both squeaked a giggle. “I know. How did the war become both the worst and the best thing to ever happen? It sounds a little vulgar to say it gave us our futures.”

“That’s the point of war, though, isn’t it?” Missi said, wiping at her nose again. “They protect us so that we have these opportunities freely.”

“Yeah,” Dany conceded, running her hand up and down Missi’s back before they pulled away, holding each other by the shoulders.”

“Alright, alright, I know I’m the black sheep, unmarried and definitely  _ not _ fucking the same man for the rest of my life,” Margaery claimed, eyes bugging slightly, gently prodding the pair apart so that they could finish, preferably on time, “but let’s get this show on the road, yeah?”

Just to spite her, Dany threw her arms around Margaery’s shoulders. “We love you,” she pulled Talisa in with a yipe from the unexpected gesture, Missi bouncing over, “and you, just as much. We're all stuck with each other until we're rolling in our graves."

There was a surge of girlish giggles. "And even then," Talisa added, "we'll find a way."

* * *

✈️👗💄🐺

* * *

She had to give it to the North: despite it being the height of summer, there was no drop of humidity and the temperature was mild. At least she knew she wouldn't die of a heat stroke on her wedding day, or sweat through her dress before she got to Jon.

A limousine brought them back to the cottage. Dany's mind became engulfed in a symphony of emotions once they pulled up: eagerness, happiness, excitement, almost crippling nervousness.

Talisa and Missi went inside first, to gather up all of the men and the guests and guide them outside. Missi stayed to get the twins ready. When Talisa returned, they filed inside, Missi handing over her flower bouquet - tiny white daisies, large roses of blush, coral, and pastel pink, and peppered with the pale blue brunnera.

A pair of shrieks and squeals had her reeling on her heels, feeling her chest well up at the sight of her babies clinging on to Missi's hands. "Oh, my little darlings! Come here!"

She set down her flowers and dropped to her knees. Tentatively, Missi let them go, two wobbly and topsy-turvy sets of legs wandering straight into her arms. They cooed and cackled, and she planted one hearty kiss to each of their cheeks, leaving a rosy imprint of her lips on their pale skin. Rhae fiddled with the beading on her shoulder, while Ned left a string of slobber on her arm. She giggled, trying to ward off the stinging behind her eyes. "You look so much older," she mused, holding them out for better inspection.

Rhae was donning in a light cotton white dress, her hair as tamed as was manageable, curls springing around her face despite the bow clips attempting to hold them in place. Ned was decked out in a smart little outfit: white button down, black bowtie, black trousers, and brown suspenders. 

"Five minutes," Margaery trilled, stepping back inside. Dany felt her heart and stomach leap in unison, pushing to her feet and letting the twins cling to her hands. 

"I'm going to see if Robb needs any more help getting dressed, be right down," Talisa said, air-kissing Dany's cheek before disappearing upstairs.

Missi scooped up the bouquet, while Margaery worked on convincing Rhae to hold her flower basket  _ without _ flinging the petals throughout the house. Ned was given the little velvet pillow that held their rings, and Dany wasn't sure how Margaery had found a way to secure them so tightly with how Ned was thrashing it about in his excited hand.

Thuds of footsteps sounded on the stairs, Dany's eyes drifting to find Talisa helping Robb down. While he was a pro using his prosthetic, stairs were still a bit iffy, having had a couple tumbles when his leg simply gave out.

A wide smile split across his face when he saw her, making a show of pretending that she blinded him. She gently smacked his arm. "Beautiful. You're gonna knock him dead," he drawled, bringing her beaming and flushed self in for a one-armed hug, pecking her cheek.

"Wait 'til your brother sees what's beneath all that," Margaery materialized, brows lifting and finger swirling in Dany's general direction.

"Margaery!" Dany hissed, even as Robb chortled, her ears burning hot now.

"We'll see you ladies out there," Robb said as his laughter ebbed, kissing Talisa's cheek before crossing down the hall toward the back of the house.

The women soon followed, Rhae and Ned leading the procession with her guidance, Missi, Margaery, and Talisa behind her.

From here, she could only see some of the chairs set up outside, the rest of the view inhibited by the half stone wall that enveloped the porch. Every few seconds her stomach rolled with anticipation, knowing that Jon was just beyond where they stood. The band that General Davos had hired as a gift for them began to play -  _ The Very Thought of You _ by Nat King Cole.

Withdrawing a lungful of air, the door was opened. The path to Jon suddenly felt far too long; he, barely visible in the bright sun and quite a distance away. She helped the twins along with mingling encouragement from the girls, and she realized by the time they reached the edge of the patio, they'd need her help. For them, they would tire out by the halfway point, since they would exchange nuptials quite far off in the yard.

Giggling at Ned's defiance in wishing to crawl, Missi took up her bouquet, and Dany filled each of her hands with little ones, guiding them with slow steps. The moment they stepped into the clearing, the tents, stage, tables and people falling into view, her heart palpitated, bodies standing to turn toward them.

It had been an easy decision when they approached the subject of who Dany preferred to walk down the aisle with. Her father was deceased and even if he wasn't, would never had been considered. Jon lightly suggested General Davos or Robb or any of his friends would have been happy to oblige...and while she deeply appreciated that, who else, besides her betrothed, was closer to her than her girlfriends?

Dany was grinning like a fool between drawing closer to Jon and the twins confusion as to why all of these people were ogling and giggling at them. Pausing, Dany dipped her hand in the flower basket, showing Rhae how to toss the petals.

In her fidgety thrill, their daughter flung the entire basket up in the air unknowingly, the petals dumping and fluttering through the air. Dany and everyone burst into a deafening laugh, but Rhae was none the wiser, suddenly spotting her deeply amused father and bolting free to sprint to him.

Dany watched with great trepidation, hoping she wouldn't land harshly if she tumbled, but grateful it was only grass. She hauled Ned up into her arms and finally, with Jon catching Rhae and lifting her up into the air ceremoniously, Dany allowed herself to absorb all of him.

Jon. Her husband, this man that snaked his way into the chaos of her life, rattled and shook her in the best of ways down to her very marrow. There was never a day where he wasn't absurdly handsome, but he was never more so than when he was loving on their children.

He was in a crisp black tux, his hair managed by some sort of product, and when he placed Rhae on his hip to look at her, her heart gave a queer stutter that had her mouth parting for air.

It felt as though they were locked this way for an age before, at long last, she was standing before him, the rest of the world momentarily falling away. The way in which his eyes, soft and aflame in equal measure, roamed her face, tracking briefly down her body and back to her eyes, had her nearly forgetting they had actual vows to exchange.

Her face hurt from smiling so hard for so long, the both of them setting the kids down whilst grandma Cat lured them over to her table.

Their officiant, some rough local northern man, stepped forward, asking them to join hands.

Jon's were trembling, she realized, giving them both a reassuring squeeze. When the breeze picked up and the sunlight flashed over his face between the shade of the trees, she noticed his lashes glistened, a trail of wet left down one cheek.

Truly, how could she possibly love this man any harder?

They had specifically requested the ceremony itself to be short and sweet. Everything else about them had been nontraditional anyhow, and they just wanted to be married already. The officiant made a very brief introduction of them before reciting the words to repeat:

His voice sincere and gruff, Jon started them off: "I, Jon, take you, Daenerys, to be my wife. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love and honor you all the days of my life...and ever after," he added, earning himself a slight frown from the officiant, but a girlish, lovesick grin from her.

"I, Daenerys, take you, Jon, to be my husband. I promise to be true to you in good times and in bad, in sickness and in health. I will love and honor you all the days of my life...and ever after," she smirked, Ned being helped over to bring the rings.

They each snorted much to the chagrin of the officiant when he tried to untie the bloody things from the ribbon. Jon muttered an insincere apology, finding the entire thing far too humorous to care.

Finally, together, they exchanged their bands, reciting: "I give you this ring as a symbol of my love; and with all that I am and all that I have."

"I am pleased to name thee husband and wife. You may now kiss your bride."

The last word had hardly been uttered when Jon dove forward, strong arms encircling around her and smashing his mouth against hers, reducing her to such a desperate state of laughter that she had to break away for air. The cheeky man had the audacity to move down to her neck, fleetingly nipping her skin there and granting himself a light slap to his shoulder; their audience had some saucy remarks, namely Tormund and Margaery who hollered some choice words that Dany could only hope her mother-in-law missed - and grateful their children couldn’t yet understand. Jon straightened them upward, the sound of clapping and cheers and Ghost's howls filling their ears as she cradled his face in her hands and kissed him thoroughly.

The band began to play, opening the night with jovial tunes as Jon leaned down and scooped her up into his arms, hers going to curl around his shoulders as he carried them to their designated table. The crowd began to disperse and make a beeline for the liquor station. Jon lowered her to her feet, stealing several more kisses while the rest of them were distracted.

"How does my wife get more beautiful everyday?" He breathed, peering down at her, stuck together like glue.

Her brows raised, her heart giving another skip at her new moniker - at this point, she might need a medic on site. "Makeup does wonders."

He shook his head, scolding her with his eyes. "No. I see you every day. I hear you and feel you every day…," his head shook again, like he couldn't quite unravel her, dark brow wrinkling, his hand lifting to hold her face delicately.

Her smile was lazy and content, but her mind and heart were thrashing. She knew he could feel it pressed through all of their layers. "You make me feel young.”

Lifting slightly, she tipped her chin up and kissed him tenderly, but they were quickly dissuaded as someone cleared their throat behind them.

“May I interest either of you in a drink, or would you prefer to get to fucking like rabbits?” Tormund jeered, head thrown back in wild laughter.

Dany shifted to stand beside Jon, his arm firmly around her waist. “Ale for me.”

“Strawberry daiquiri, please and thank you,” she smiled, Tormund tipping his invisible hat as he wandered off toward the makeshift bar.

“You do realize those were the very first drinks we shared together?” Jon noted, dropping a kiss to her forehead.

“I do,  _ lieutenant _ , but I’m surprised you do,” she teased, her eyes landing on two wild little ones running circles around Cat, who was sitting in the grass and blowing bubbles for them to chase.

“Why is that?” He pressed, squeezing her.

“You were  _ so _ nervous,” she lightly accused, looking up at him, “even though you were the assertive one.”

He scoffed at that. “ _ Me _ , assertive? I was only trying to pay my compliments for what you’d done for me.”

Tormund brought them their drinks before hastily disappearing, saluting to them on the way. Dany frowned in thought, sipping at her drink. “Are you sure? I seem to remember you getting rather jealous that Theon was flirting with me. You’re lucky he wasn’t my type.”

Jon groaned after taking a hefty chug of his ale. “Don’t remind me,” he muttered bitterly, sighing dramatically. “You caught me,” he eyed her drink, scowling. “That won’t do. You need something stronger.”

“I’m going to be on the floor before three o’clock if I start strong now,” she defended...weakly, almost challenging.

“Good.”

* * *

✈️👗💄🐺

* * *

Dany was quickly coming to realize how much time Margaery and Tormund were spending within each others close proximity. Unless it was the alcohol doing the talking, but she supposed they would make quite an...interesting pair.

It was unfortunate for Theon, who seemed to be vying for Margaery’s attention for much of the night, but to no avail. Dany almost felt sorry for him; there were no other available bachelorettes to be found in their backyard, but she was too busy dancing with little Ned to put forth much energy toward it. The band settled on a slow tempo, the alcohol flowing between nearly everyone save for Missandei, Grey, and Cat, and bellies full from dinner and cake.

The food didn’t do too much to hinder the buzz Dany had adopted, between almost every person in attendance - and especially her husband - somehow never allowing her to be without a drink in her hand at all times. For now, she was using Ned as an excuse to have her hands full, even though the poor thing was growing weary from all of the commotion and activities from the day. Seeing that he was becoming dead weight, she bent down and collected him up into her arms, seeking Jon, and finding he was mirroring her with Rhae, whose body was slumped against him and sleeping face smushed against his shoulder.

His own heavy eyes locked on hers, curly hair quickly becoming unruly, weaving between a few bodies before joining where she stood. “Naps?”

Dany nodded; they had already been out here for three hours, the poor things were completely spent. As they began to make headway toward the house, Missi stopped them. “I’ll stay with them; I’m actually needing an excuse to put my feet up for a bit,” she smiled warmly.

“Are you sure? Do you feel sick?” Dany felt suddenly sober, Ned’s heavy weight confirming he had passed out within seconds.

Missi’s eyes widened a bit. “No, not at all!” She assured. “It’s just the fatigue has been awful; just ask Grey. I’m pretty sure I nap more than they do at this point,” she nodded toward the twins.

  
“You go on,” Dany told Jon, “I’ll show her the room.”

Jon carefully maneuvered Rhae so that he could kiss her cheek, setting her in Missandei’s arms, reaching down to squeeze Dany’s elbow in a silent  _ see you in a minute. _

Once the babies were nestled in their cribs, Dany showed Missi where the bathroom was, as well as the kitchen should she need anything that wasn’t already provided outside. Dany felt her legs wobble a bit, her last round of whisky kicking in. “This is pretty comfy,” Dany gestured toward the cushioned rocking chair that was in the corner, “or, if it’s not weird, you can always take up our bed. The room is close enough that you’ll hear them when they wake. Are you sure you want to stay up here? I don’t mind.”

Missi laughed quietly, her warm hands cuffing Dany’s upper arms. “I promise,” she affirmed, “I’m surprised I made it that long out there, honestly. Everything is moving along nicely; I’m just a little less sprightly these days.”

Dany studied her friend for a good beat before wrapping her up in an embrace. “I appreciate you. Let me know if you need me.”

With one more heart-swelling look at the sleeping figures, Dany went back to the party.   
  
✈️👗💄🐺

“She’s  _ baaaack _ !” Tormund practically bowled her over the moment her feet landed on the grass, shoving a glass of dark golden liquid in her hand.

She grimaced, the smell making her stomach twist. “What  _ is _ this?”

“Northern mead! Don’t tell me your husband has neglected you so…”

Jon walked over then, as if his ears had been burning. He had since forgone his suit jacket, more of his curls having freed themselves out of their hold, which wasn’t dousing her ever-growing impatience to have him, - not when he was out there looking so ravishing.

Dany shot Tormund a look that read ‘ _ I’m afraid so _ ’, the ginger man’s enormous hand landing so hard on Jon’s back that her husband’s drink dribbled down the front of his pants, making him jump away from it.

“Ha! Drink up,” Tormund jammed a finger in the air right in front of her face.

“It smells awful,” she complained, face screwing up.

Jon did a pitiful job at brushing away the whiskey that stained his pants as it had already absorbed, coming to stand beside her, then narrowed his eyes over Tormund’s shoulder. “I think Margaery is looking for you,” he mumbled, his words turning into verbal cursive.

Before Dany could blink, or see for herself as Tormund threw himself around, Jon grabbed her drink and downed it in three huge gulps, putting it back in her hands whilst resuming a casual stance. Her giggling died when Tormund turned back around, grumbling something about not finding the ‘saucy blonde’

His face came alight when he noticed her empty cup. “Well?”

“Delightful,” she put on a bright, forced grin, seemingly pleasing the man before he made his excuses to find a certain lady.

Ghost appeared out of thin air, his furry head butting against her thigh. “Oh, hi, sweet guy,” she knelt down, slinging her right arm over the back of him, his yawn so great his head shook. “You should go inside and sleep with your brother and sister.”

The dog cocked his head, eyes roaming the yard as if expecting to find the kids there. It occurred to her that he may have been looking for them since their disappearance; if he missed out on some of the routines, or if they changed, he sometimes grew anxious until he was aware of where Rhae and Ned got off to.

“Ghost,” Jon whistled, taking him inside, leaving the door propped open in the event he wanted back out.

Dany was hazily gazing out at all of the dancing, sweaty bodies on the makeshift dance floor, a sluggish smile dancing on her lips when she felt a pair of arms ensnare her around her waist. She leaned her head back, Jon’s front molding into her. She could smell him - woodsy, whisky, the weird perspiration that never smelled bad but seemed to enhance his natural scent. She set her empty glass on the ledge of the porch wall, sliding her arms over his.

His breath tickled her ear when he spoke, the coarse hairs of his beard doing the same to her neck. “We haven’t danced yet.”

Brow lifting, she rotated her head to see him, staring incredulously. “ _ I’ve _ been dancing all afternoon.”

He huffed a laugh through his nose. “I know. I was watching.”

A shiver coursed through her, unbidden. The rough edge to his voice, the bass-like tone. She tightened her grip on him, and he mirrored the gesture, nuzzling his lips against her neck. “You also haven’t asked me to dance, husband.”

Without a word, he unraveled his arms, save for one to fit his hand in hers, tugging her on dangerously unsteady steps to where a few were dancing in the middle - if that's what it could be considered. It looked like most were hanging on to one another for dear life, their heads thick and spinning.

Jon left her for a moment, making her hands sit on her hips. She thought perhaps he was evading a dance, but he muttered something in the ear of the band leader, exchanging friendly smiles as Jon joined her once more.

Dany eyed him suspiciously, letting him take up her hands and pull her against him. "What are you up to?"

His smile was lopsided and sly. "You'll see."

The band paused to reset, then opened to the sweeping tune of  _ We'll Meet Again _ . She watched him carefully, realizing belatedly that he remembered how to slow dance; where to position their hands and feet accordingly.

"When we were in Essos," Jon began, taking her by surprise; he didn't often bring up his time there, and she didn't ask, knowing how painful it was and that if he did chose, would learn to over time, "we had this little radio we carried with us, turned it on and kept it real low, only when we weren't in enemy territory."

Her eyes remained focused on his slightly damp face, his set on something distant. 

His lips twitched upward, just for a beat, then brought his stormy eyes down to her. "Stupid thing could barely get a signal; we just wanted a little insight to what was happening at home. The thing was dropped and battered; I'm pretty certain it became very familiar with Tormund's fist now and again."

She hummed a laugh, the hand resting behind his nape shifting to finger through his curls there.

"But for some reason…," his brow pinched at the middle, just so, " _ this _ song always came through as clear as day. It pissed almost everyone else off-" she laughed; the other men didn't give her the impression that they wore their hearts on their sleeves, "-but it brought me a little bit of comfort. I don't really believe in faith or any of that, but…," his eyes roamed her face, "I believed in you. Seeing you again, holding you again."

It took her a moment to register they'd stopped moving, though the song still blared. She reclaimed her other arm and wound them both around his shoulders, while his linked at her back, pulling her flush against him. Raising her face, she pressed her lips against his, parting them when his tongue teased her for entry.

Her skin bloomed with heat, the song fading to its end, and they were once again ripped apart by somebody clearing their throat against the microphone. She turned her head to see what all the commotion was about, laying her cheek against Jon's chest. Neither of them expected to see Tormund standing in place of the singer, though the band appeared unphased by it.

Dany was only a little wary of what might spew from his brusque mouth. "Sorry to interrupt, folks, but the newlywed's carriage has arrived out front. Best we see them off, eh?"

Jon and Dany exchanged a puzzled look, but it was evident that they were the only ones not in the know of what was unfolding. Tormund hopped off the stage, two full drinks in hand, flitting directly over to them. "Come on, get moving, and take these," he shoved each a drink into their hands, then moved them forward where everybody else was weaving through the house.

Dany thought it was all a joke, whatever  _ it _ was, but at the front of the house was an actual horse-drawn carriage awaiting...them, apparently. Reeling around on her heels, immediately grateful for Jon's grip to keep her from falling on her ass while her head caught up, her mouth simply fell open.

Tormund threw his hands up in surrender. "Don't look at me! I'm simply the messenger!"

Everyone was breaming, while Dany couldn't pluck out who was responsible for such a gift until she came to the conclusion that Jon was rather stoic at the moment. His face broke into a dopey grin when her eyes locked on his, shrugging nonchalantly. "I know we agreed to save our honeymoon trip for when the kids were older, and this is mildly overdramatic, but I couldn't not give you something."

Slowly, she shook her head, words failing her. For all she knew the carriage could be taking them to the middle of nowhere, but her chest tightened at his thoughtfulness regardless.

A little numb, the clink of Jon's glass against hers flung her out of her gaze. In unison, they chugged their drinks against the  _ whoops _ and jeers of their audience - the sudden appearance of the twins making her drink faster. Her tongue was partly numbed, but she did figure out that it was rum mixed with notes of something fruity and bitter.

It took her a minute to recover, her throat burning and face screwed up as the stinging waned. Someone came by and took their cups, and they made quick goodbyes and thank-yous, lingering on their three little loves - Rhae and Ned with their tousled bed head, and Ghost, who was sitting patiently with Missi and Cat, each of whom carried a twin.

Jon scooped her up after they made their rounds to everyone, and Dany didn't know how in the seven hells he didn't stumble over his own feet when she could barely keep the world from spinning. The next minute they were huddled up I the carriage, onward to whatever destination awaited them.

* * *

✈️👗💄🐺

* * *

It was the last thing she could have expected, truthfully.

Just when she began to believe her drunken mind that they  _ were _ being dumped in the middle of nowhere, as they trailed a path through the Wolfswood just outside of Torrhen's Square, an enormous bleeding  _ treehouse _ stared back at them. Winding stairs looped high up into the trees...very, very high.

Jon thanked the driver before hopping out, reaching for Dany as they then, with all lack of grace, toppled over one another into the grass below, dissolving her into a completely breathless mess of giggles.

"I'm starting to rethink the idea of being in a tree," Jon groaned, shifting to remove a stick caught under his back.

Dany used her hands to push up against his chest, the carriage long abandoning them and their antics. "You know how I feel about heights."

"Aye," he gruffed, eyes twinkling, "but I know a way to help calm your nerves."

A slow, wicked smirk danced along her lips, biting down onto her lip as she tugged him up to her by his collar. "Show me."

Not only could she never recall a time in her life where she was this far removed from the sober world, but the effort for the pair of them to climb all of the stairs should have been written into history books. Either one of them was winded, too imbalanced and risked falling off the rails, or they somehow managed to trip over each other, with Jon losing a show in tje process. It fell somewhere far below, but neither of them had it in them to care.

Even in her state, she was able to appreciate what lay before them: essentially, one very large, roomy square of space, the structure entwined by thick tree trunks. There were actually windows, and by where the low-lying bed was stationed was no wall at all, but a balcony that oversaw a body of water she was unfamiliar with.

In one corner, she did recognize one of her bags alongside one of Jon's, turning toward him. "How long did you have this planned?"

He sat heavily on the bed, laying back and tossing his arms above his head. "For a while; this last week was me coming here to book it."

She wandered over to him, stopping in front of his bent knees. "Very sneaky. I love it."

His arm reached up toward her. "Stop moving."

She snorted. "I'm not!"

"We're gonna have one hell of a morning,"

"And evening," she noted saucily, brow lifting.

He watched her for a long time, it felt, his hooded eyes darkening. "Take this off," he tugged at the fabric of her dress.

" _ You _ take it off."

Lip trapped between his teeth, he sat bolt upright - with her help, or of what help she could be - and gently spun her around, trapping her between his legs. "Fuck's sake," he groused, Dany's shoulders bouncing at his displeasure. She felt his fingers begin their work, his knuckles pressing patterns against her back while he worked his way down.

She only allowed him a couple more buttons worth of torture before she demanded that he tear it off of her.

This time, he didn't waste a second of time, his hands slipping between the small progress he made and splitting the back open, silk buttons popping whilst some dropped at her feet.

"Oh, my," she breathed, her feverish appetite to get this part over with turning her as wolfish as he was acting. Before she could bend down to be rid of her heels, his hands slipped into the fabric, curling around her waist, caressing her skin as he pulled her close enough that he could press his plush lips to the exposed skin of her back. She closed her eyes, trying to simmer the shallow breaths atop the anticipation.

One hand snaked up to fondle a breast, freezing when it touched the fabric. He swiveled her around again, and she bit back a grin as he peeled the top half of her dress down to pool at her waist, promptly shoving his fist between his teeth at the sight of her.

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her down with him, flipping her over onto her back and made quick work of shedding the rest of the dress, leaving her in just her heels and ivory lace underclothes. Before she could demand him to get back on top of her, her breath came in shallow puffs as he tracked warm, wet kisses up her calf, to the inner crook of her knee, down the inside of her thigh. She was so eager that even the tickle of his facial hair on the sensitive skin didn’t faze her.

“Gods,” she wheezed, fingers curling into the duvet when his nose nudged her clit, hot tongue lapping over the thin silk covering her cunt. She whimpered when that was all he gave her - for now - continuing his teasing path up the length of her other leg. And to torture her further, he took his time in removing her heels, despite them being two simply, thin straps.

The second they fell to the floor, she linked her legs around his torso and dragged him up to her, only successful because he was off his balance. She laughed as he barely caught himself with his hands, several locks of his hair bouncing in his face with the motion.

“Not yet, darling,” he half growled, pecking her lips before descending his lips down past her stomach.

Her skin erupted in gooseflesh as he kissed down her middle abdomen, circling his tongue at her navel, diving further until he was massaging her slit with his wicked tongue. Back curving off the bed, her mouth fell open in a silent gasp. One of Jon’s arms wrapped around a leg, keeping her thighs apart as his free thumb began to slowly, duly, swirl over her clit.

She keened into the open air, lifting her feet to dig her heels into his back, needing  _ some _ form of pressure to either bring her down or send her over. He flicked, massaged, nudged and dragged his tongue at a pace he knew well was enough to drive her mad but not quite enough to let her come, relishing in her restrained squirming and strangled cries for him to give her  _ something _ .

His teeth captured the edge of her panties, momentarily pausing the painfully slow incline of her peak, dragging the fabric down to her knees before his hands flung them off of her. Lifting her head, her breathing just beginning to level, he went back to it, only this time without the buffer of lace and silk. Eyes rolling, she moved her hand to softly grasp at his hair, adding slight pressure to his head because she needed more, more friction, more  _ him _ . His tongue plunging into her feverish heat, he mirrored the tempo of his thumb on her clit, bringing her near to tears.

Her shoulders pressed into the bed, the groan emitting from her husband vibrating into her skin and making her writhe. Finally, he had a little mercy on her, releasing his grip on keeping her down, her hips pitching up on their own accord to ride his mouth...and one suction of her clit into his lips had spots bursting beneath her eyelids, the surge so monumental that she briefly drowned in it. If she had been anywhere else, she might have been mortified at the sounds that ripped from her throat, sounds that probably weren’t too far off from what wild animals lived in this forest. She vaguely made a mental note to properly thank Jon for bringing them far, far away from the ears of their wedding guests (and children) that would be making their home their place of rest that night.

Jon helped bring her down, using the soft, blunt pad of his thumb to rub at the side of her clit. Her hands relaxed their white-knuckled vice grip on the sheets, the joints of her fingers sore, every inch of her skin damp. It occurred to her that she had very well been on the brink of falling into a dazed sleep, the aftermath damn near making her black out. The alcohol coursing through her had relaxed her muscles, which managed to only exacerbate the feelings of euphoria.

The bed shifting below her was what forced her eyes open, rolling her head to watch Jon shimmy his way up to her. He sealed their mouths together, lazy and soft, while she worked at shucking his clothes off. Shirt, trousers, belt, socks and shoes were tossed blindly out of their way, leaving him gloriously naked above her, his cock hard and flushed and throbbing. Her hands wandered over his skin, taking her time to re-memorize every bit of skin while they weren’t in a time crunch.

Jon reached beneath her, rolling her to her side slightly so he could unsnap her bra, swiftly sliding it off of her arms and latching his soft lips to one nipple, her body shuddering from the roots of her hair to her toes as he brought it to a stiff peak. She had been forced to wean off of breastfeeding the babies a few weeks ago, as she continued to run into problems relating to insufficient supply or horrifically painful clogs, and per Dr. Tyrell, they had been old enough to begin drinking cow’s milk and filling their bellies with puree baby food. While Dany had been rather melancholy about it - some of her most favorite bonding moments were when she was feeding them, the suckling sounds like a lullaby to her ears - she was happy to have lasted as long as she had.

And now, a few weeks later and well after her milk supply was truly dried up, there was still a lingering sensitivity in the nerves there, and Jon’s probing tongue that was aware of that fact was re-igniting the embers low in her belly. He kissed a trail to the other, her moans drawn out. He then took a hold of his cock and dragged it through her juices, her hips seeking his when he pulled back and teased her entrance with its head. Their eyes locked in a momentary delirious standoff until he pushed into her to the hilt.

As she cried out by the sudden intrusion, he grunted and dropped his head to her shoulder, holding himself in place as they both recovered from the surge of pleasure. Dany pulled him down so that he was blanketing her, a ferocious need to feel all of him against her overwhelming as she caged her legs around his hips and urged him to move again. He turned his head to kiss her neck, hips pulling back and tilting in, starting leisurely and shallow, pants and groans matching his rhythm.

Dany lifted her hand and brought his face up from where he was busy tending to her neck and shoulder; she could smell the whiskey, the sweat, and the slight scent of sap from the air outside, the tangy sweet of herself in his beard when she kissed him. His tongue swept into her mouth, exploring every nook, her arm hooking around his shoulders as she raised her hips upon his next thrust, the friction of his pelvis against her clit eliciting a groan into the cavern of his hot mouth.

As if in recompense, he pressed his lower half impossibly closer, nudging her legs further apart, the tops of his thighs flat against the back of hers. She watched him, breathless, as he lifted to his knees and hooked her legs over his arms, his chest rising and falling as his eyes tracked the image of her spread out before him. Somehow, he still managed to make her blush.

Gritting his teeth, she drew in a lungful of air right as he snapped his hips into her, the delicious burn as he established a steady pace that seemed to suck all oxygen out of her mouth to the point that she was dizzy. She slid herself down another inch, the hard pressure of their skin meeting ripping a growl from Jon’s chest and making her throw her arm over her face, as if that might bring some form of relief from the mounting coil that was ready to sever itself at any moment.

She lifted her arm away to absorb him, a pale, flushed and perfectly carved body, the tautness of his abdomen that made his muscles protrude and ripple, a vein now prominent in his bicep, his white fingertips digging into the skin of her legs, wolfish grunts as he thoroughly filled her over and over. A droplet of sweat slid down her forehead, drifting her eyes up to find Jon’s determined and starving ones on her. Abruptly, she reached forward, unable to take him being so out of her reach. Without separating, he pulled her up to crash against his chest, and adjusted to allow her to straddle his hips. Her arms looped tightly around his shoulders and sunk down onto him, stuck in a state of wishing to draw this out for hours and an immediate need to unravel.

His stuttered breaths were hot and humid against the crook of her neck, his hands splayed and clutched over her ass as he urged each lift and descent, his fingers slipping between them where they joined. The slight extra friction had her head rolling back, muttering nonsense, her husband taking advantage of the exposure and licking from the between the valley of her breasts up to her clavicle, peppering sloppy kisses over her dewy, salty skin.

“Gods,” she huffed, finding herself desperately tightening her hold around him as he curled his fingers around and pressed two slick ones against her clit, her breaths sharp and heady.

“Fuck...Dany... _ fuck _ ,” Jon bit out through his teeth, using what strength remained to roll his hips into hers, and she could tell by how desperately they each were holding their breath and how forceful they were releasing them that he was ready to spend with her.

Dany spread her legs wider, splitting herself more open for him, and then they were both gone, heaving themselves off of the tallest edge, Dany’s cunt palpitating and squeezing against Jon’s pulsing cock as he spilled into her with a few final erratic pumps, stilling as they mouthed at each other and lamented blissfully against the other.

She rolled her hips lazily, their clammy bodies quivering as her frayed nerves and winded chest came back down to the earth. Jon’s forehead slunk to rest on her shoulder, his skin beneath her hands slick with sweat. Gently, after a few moments of sitting contently, stuck together, he softened and pulled out of her before wrapping her up in his arms and rolling them flat onto the bed.

She shivered, hardly observing how much time had passed until cooler air wafted in, sweeping over her skin. Before she could move, Jon pulled the knit blanket free from the foot of the bed, bringing it up to her shoulders whilst keeping his side at his waist. Typical northerner.

The effects of the various drinks she had earlier had waned, though there was still a slight buzz about her head. Or perhaps that was all because Jon had ravished her to the point of catapulting her mind into an entirely different universe.

He crept closer to her, his elbow resting on her side as his hand drew idle shapes over her skin. Dany snuggled up as close as she could get to him while still able to look at his face, pushing back several feral curls from his eyes and tucking them behind his ear. Even gazing at him now, his eyes blinking slowly, his lips set in a tiny smile...she wondered how he was capable of arresting her even after all this time. In truth, they’d not been together for all that long in comparison to all who did these the traditional ways - a little over two years; less physically during the months Jon was across the Narrow Sea - but every single day with him felt like the first all over again. Even through their many nights of pent-up sleep deprivation and grumpy moods, when the stresses of war burdened their shoulders, not even returning home when they’d been informed there was a chance that home might no longer be an option…   
  
They took comfort in one another on their worst days, rather than lash out or tear down. In a very short time, they built this crazy, whimsical life together. And as she lay there, finding peace in the soft breaths of Jon’s nose, his eyes having drifted shut beneath her light massage over his head - just as they did for countless nights after his concussion - she wouldn’t have it any other way, no matter how many lifetimes she was gifted.

* * *

✈️👗💄🐺

* * *

**2 months later**   
  
“Happy birthday to you...happy birthday to - wait! Rhae, not yet!” Dany reached forward and gently grabbed Rhae’s hand before she could smash it into their cake, her actions met with a defiant squal. Dany put her other hand on her hip and gave her daughter  _ the look _ \- which was all a farce, for the most part. She was far too soft to mean anything menacing by it. To the point that Rhae’s reddened face burst into wet laughs and snorts.

Jon was trying to capture some moments of the twins’ first birthday on the new camera they’d gotten as a wedding gift, and most of them probably contained blurry movements of one-year-old arms flailing about, Dany flitting between each to hold them still so Jon might get at least one decent photo.

“Happy birthday dear Rhae and Ned, happy birthday to you,” they finished in unison, clapping and cheering while the kids gawked at their parents with wonderment. Ned was clearly judging them; even a thin, light brow was lifted.

  
Jon snorted, setting the camera on the kitchen table. “Alright...dig in,” he instructed them; Rhae had already grasped a handful before Jon could finish. Ned blinked at the dessert sitting between them, more taken by Rhae mashing the sponge and frosting into her face, barely trying to make it into her mouth.

“I thought boys were usually the less tidy ones?” Dany inquired, forever perplexed by their son’s innate desire to keep himself kempt.

Chuckling, Jon bent down in front of Ned's highchair and pinched off a piece of his side of the joint cake, wiggling it in front of his mouth. Ned flung his arms about, then turned his head, face squeezing shut.

Jon playfully scoffed, putting the piece in his own mouth and making a show of moaning by how good it tasted - the usual melodrama they had to sometimes play to get the kids attention or follow suit.

Ned and Rhaella looked at him intently, eyes searching him as they tried to determine whether he was in pain or goofing off. Recognizing it as the former, Rhae gathered a palm full of cake, Ned mimicking his sister. Dany knelt at Jon's side, smiling and looping her arm around Jon's torso.

At the same time, the kids reached forward toward Jon's face. He leaned forward an inch and opened his mouth as wide as a wolf, and then cake was being mashed in his mouth and well outside of it. Dany squealed her delight and clapped her hands, the children laughing with such intensity they could barely catch their breath.

Jon opened his eyes, mock glaring at them all as bits of cake tumbled off his beard where much of it was caught. His eyes landed on Dany's watery ones. "Hmm. Very attractive," She ribbed, brows bouncing upward to emphasize her jeering.

Jon lunged forward, her hands waving frantically in instant defeat as shr screeched. He sent her a feral grin, capturing her by the waist before she could outrun him.

She was reduced to a hysterical mess of both desperate laughing and begging him not to do what he was thinking of doing, but no words came out; just gasps for air. Grinning like a naughty boy, he slid her across the floor, moving her frantic arms around him with a wimpy " _ don't you dare! _ " as he gently, but firmly, held her head still and scuffed his cake-and-icing-painted face all over hers.

The twins banged their hands on their tray, utterly delighted that papa was sharing with mama. Jon chuckled wickedly, following Dany's backwards movements until she was helplessly lying on her back with his arms bracing either side of her, weak from giggling herself silly, hands trying to pry Jon off.

Tears escaped her eyes, and he concluded his onslaught with a hearty kiss to her mouth. Immediately, her body relaxed, arms and legs trpaping him where he hovered over her. Her breaths were hot and shallow while her lungs searched for air. She smiled against him, and he pulled away enough to see his find work.

"You're a mess. What happened?" He quirked an eyebrow, playfully scowling.

She yanked him back down by the collar of his shirt and smashed his mouth against hers, rolling them over through a series of fighting for dominance over nothing in particular. He reached his hands beneath the skirt of her dress and squeezed her ass cheeks, receiving a smack to his arm and a warning to " _ mind the audience! _ "

Jon removed his hands and smoothed her dress down, grinning cheekily at her before darting his eyes up at the two sets of eyes deadpanning down at them. They both cleared their throats, feeling oddly as though roles had been reversed, half expecting a stern word from both Rhae and Ned. Dany lifted herself up, her face immediately snapping back to his when she felt...it.

Her eyes crinkled and she stifled her laugh behind her hand. Jon grit his teeth - the kids went back to stuffing their faces with cake. "You'd better put that away for later, Mr. Stark," she teased, purposely and  _ unnecessarily _ rolling her hips over the bulge in his pants as she moved to stand up.

Jon lifted his legs to protect his obvious excitement, to retain some modesty. He couldn't help that his wife roused him so easily.

Before he could make such a retort, the phone rang on the counter. Dany's eyes flit between his crotch and his face, smirking before she disappeared around the corner to answer the call.

Luckily, he softened quickly, hoisting himself up to observe the damage done. Nearly all of the cake had disappeared, though he couldn't decide if there was more in their stomachs or on their little bodies. They had left them both in diapers, their pale slin painted in whites and blues and crumbles of cake.

"A job well done," Jon praised, clearing out their trays and wiping up what he could with a warm damp towel between the three of them. He rinsed it thoroughly and left it near the sink for Dany's use. "I think this calls for a birthday bubble bath, aye?" He bent at the waist and kissed their chubby cheeks, which were beginning to take more shapely features now that they were walking and running full time (albeit still a bit wobbly). He nuzzled his beard against their soft skin, wet high pitched chortles erupting from them.

Ghost appeared out of thin air from his nap and lapped up the remnants on the floor, and just as Jon was bringing the kids down onto the floor, Dany's figure leaning against the wall - face free of food - grabbed his attention.

He couldn't quite read her expression, unsure of what to expect had him growing anxious. "What's happened?"

She smiled then, sweet and warm, taking his hand and bringing him to the family room where Rhae and Ned busied themselves with toys. Ghost hopped up onto the sofa, paws hanging off the edge of the cushion as he observed them, like the big brother he was. 

Dany grabbed his other hand then, her beautiful eyes turning misty, her smile never faltering. “That was General Seaworth.”

Jon’s brow wrinkled, his mind reeling as to the implications, but if it had been bad news, Dany wouldn’t be crying right now. He freed one of his hands to hold her face, his thumb sweeping away the few tears that had fallen. “There’s to be a medal ceremony tomorrow evening, in the capital. General wanted to know if we might be interested in attending...since we’re both being awarded.”

Jon blinked. All of the sound around him momentarily ceased, shaking his head slightly, and even though he knew he heard correctly, he still said, “what?”

Dany sniffed then nodded, securing her arms around his middle. “You’re one of three being given the Medal of Honor. Myself and the girls from the hospital are getting the Red Westerosi Cross. He said he had to fight a bit, because the Citadel went up in arms over you getting anything, but he got through to them. That’s why it’s so last-minute; he called as soon as he heard.”

“Holy shit,” he murmured, quiet enough that it wouldn’t reach innocent ears. Half numb, he pulled her flush against him, kissing the top of her head. He exhaled slowly, heart thrumming.

Dany tilted her head back and kissed his chin. “I’m so proud of you,” she whispered.

He gave another tiny shake of his head. “I don’t care about me. What did you tell him?”

“To take the medals and shove them where the sun doesn’t shine.”

Good-naturedly, he sneered at her, giving her a firm squeeze with his arms. She grunted, then chuckled. “I told him we’d be there, of course. He said there will be new uniforms for everyone to wear.”

“I imagine there wasn’t much left to mine, anyway,” he said, smiling lopsided down at her, then drifted his attention over to the kids, who were currently getting sloppy licks from Ghost each time they came within a few inches of where he lay, making them ignite with delightful squeals.

He felt his heart could implode, knowing that, while they were very young and wouldn’t remember it, they would be able to see their parents be recognized for doing something so near and dear to their hearts.

“Are you sure you’ll be alright in an airplane?” Dany asked softly, face contorting into mild concern.

Jon heaved a sigh, kissing her forehead, letting his lips linger there. After a moment, he nodded. “Aye. It’s not terribly long. And I’ll have all of you with me.”

Dany pressed her cheek against his chest. “Guess we ought to start packing then, yes? General is going to call us in a little bit with flight information. The military is paying for our share.”

* * *

✈️👗💄🐺

* * *

The following morning, just after the sun had climbed above the horizon, they hectictly rounded up the kids, vaguely remembered Grenn arriving to dog-sit Ghost, and went over their list of packed items at least three times each. Three quarters of it was for the kids, and though they’d only be gone a couple of days, Dany didn’t feel there was such a thing as over-packing when you had twins on board.

It was a two-hour excursion and another hour or so when they arrived at the airport, which was blessedly mostly vacant. Once their luggage was carried away, they each carried a child, and their hands remained entwined as they looked for their terminal. 

Due to their earlier-than-usual wake-up call, both Ned and Rhae had fallen asleep halfway through their walk. As they sat in waiting for when their plane arrived, Dany wound her arms around Ned and rested her head on Jon’s shoulder, trying to keep her eyes open so she didn’t miss anything, or gods forbid Jon fall asleep and then they were screwed.

As it happened, it was her husband who was shrugging her awake, kissing her temple as they were guided forth. Dany claimed Jon’s hand again; she knew her was far more nervous than he was letting on. She could feel it in the tremble of his hand, the slight widening of his eyes when they actually stepped on board. Her grip never relinquished even when they were guided to their seats. Dany took up the window seat and pulled down the shade, one twin each in their laps.

Jon gently squeezed her palm, pressing himself tightly against the back of his seat. Dany lifted their conjoined hands and kissed each of his knuckles, holding them to her face. He rolled his head to the side with a slow exhale, lips turning up toward her. “I love you,” he whispered, leaning over as far as he could without stirring Rhae.

Dany met him halfway, sealing their lips in a tender embrace. “I love you more.”

_ Till the end of time, long as stars are in the blue _

_ Long as there's a Spring of birds to sing I'll go on loving you _

_ Till the end of time, long as roses bloom in May _

_ My love for you will grow deeper with every passing day _

_ Till the wells run dry and each mountain disappears _

_ I'll be there for you to care for you through laughter and through tears _

_ So take my heart in sweet surrender and tenderly say that I'm _

_ The one you love and live for till the end of time _

_ Till the wells run dry and each mountain disappears _

_ I'll be there for you to care for you through laughter and through tears _

_ So take my heart in sweet surrender and tenderly say that I'm _

_ The one you love and live for till the end of time _

_ ‘Till The End of Time - Perry Como _

**the end.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so we've reached the end, friends. A heartfelt thank-you to each and every reader, comment, bookmark, kudos, and to everyone over on tumblr who liked/reblogged/commented - love and appreciation to ALL OF YOU! I can't believe this is over, but I'm sure there will be some drabbles here and there when I think of them.
> 
> Currently working on several other WIPs at the moment, in-between drowning in all of the other incredible stories by the Jonerys fam. Take care out there, stay healthy and safe, and see you in the next one!


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